Front Page News
by highlandgypsy
Summary: When Colonel Lard decides to embed a journalist with the 214th, the results are not what he – or the Black Sheep – expected.
1. Chapter 1

**Front Page News**

When Colonel Lard decides to embed a journalist with the 214th, the results are not what he – or the Black Sheep – expected.

 **XXX**

I don't own the rights to any of this, it all belongs to Stephen J. Cannell. Beyond the next paragraph, it's pure fiction. Since it's fiction based on fiction, I am happy to take responsibility for a total disregard of anything resembling historical accuracy.

 **XXX**

". . . after Pearl Harbor, of the 1,600 reporters permitted to wear the armband emblazoned with a "C" that meant war correspondent, 127 were women."

\- "Gal Reporters: Breaking Barriers in World War II," by Mark Jenkins, for National Geographic News, Dec. 10, 2003

 **CHAPTER 1**

"You're doing _what_?" Boyington stared at Lard in disbelief.

Seated behind his desk, Lard smiled pleasantly.

"Sit down, Major, it's not that bad." He gestured to a chair.

Boyington did not sit down. His entire day had been headed straight to hell and now it seemed the trip was complete.

It had started with his tent roof leaking in the middle of the night. Again. Since everyone else's tents were leaking, too, he didn't feel he had much room to complain. He'd just re-arranged a few buckets until he could get it patched.

Then there was the mess with his executive officer and that nurse. She was a sweet little piece of work but Jim Gutterman needed to learn some discretion. The girl had been the daughter of a Navy admiral, and daddy didn't really care that his princess been a willing participant in some after hours activity with a Marine fighter pilot. It wasn't a problem until they'd gotten caught somewhere they shouldn't have been. Defusing that situation had cost him some damn good Scotch. A lot of damn good Scotch.

Then TJ clipped a wing tip on a tree near the strip coming back from the day's mission. A tree, for God's sake. The boy avoided getting flamed by the Japs and then hit a tree.

The summons to meet with Colonel Lard on Espritos Marcos had been the final straw.

"You heard me," Lard continued, trying not to gloat. "I'm embedding a war correspondent with the 214th. He'll bunk with you, brief with you, shoot photos, write stories, capture the lives of the daring fighter pilots for the folks back home. You know the drill."

Yeah, Boyington knew the drill.

"You know how I feel about the press corps," he snarled. "Nosy, pain in the ass civilians. They distract my men and they aren't good for anything but getting in the way. They don't belong in a front area."

Lard thought back to the Black Sheep's previous encounters with journalists. Most had ended badly. The unit simply did not handle the press well. He didn't see why this time should be any different. Maybe it would finally give him the leverage he needed to get Boyington and the Black Sheep to tow the line. He'd never met a unit with such blatant disregard for rules. It had cost him more than one night's sleep. He didn't know half of what went on at La Cava and he decided he didn't want to. He just wanted it to stop.

"You don't need to worry," Lard said. "This guy has done war coverage in Europe for the Associated Press for the last two years. He was covering the war before we were in the war." Lard shuffled some papers on his desk. "Ahh, here it is, he spent the last year with the RAF on bases through England and Scotland. Covered the Blitz in London before that. Knows military protocol. He'll do just fine with your boys. Get that slice of life story for folks on the home front, keep 'em buying war bonds." Lard's smile was extremely satisfied.

 _Get that slice of life story that will get us all court-martialed, more likely_ , Boyington thought. He did not need a reporter getting in Black Sheep business for a single story, let alone being assigned to the unit for any duration.

"As much as it pains me to say it, the 214th is the hottest thing in the South Pacific right now. Folks at home want pictures, they want to know what the boys over here are doing." Lard's face grew hard and his tone lost its joviality. "So you will cooperate and you will welcome this guy to the 214th and give him access to whatever he needs. I do not want to hear another word about it. He'll arrive on Thursday's supply transport. You are dismissed."

Boyington threw a half-assed salute and stormed out. The Black Sheep were hot right now, Lard had that right, and he didn't want to mess with it. They'd had 18 confirmed kills in their last 11 missions with no pilots lost and minimal damage to the birds. The only real casualty had been TJ's tree. The last thing he wanted now was some unknown element throwing everything out of kilter.

Lard watched through his office window as the major stomped across the compound and climbed back to his Corsair. He chuckled and reached for the refrigerator to get a glass of milk. No. Not milk this time. His ulcer had never felt better than when he got the upper hand on that regulation-ignoring Marine and his collection of screwballs. He poured himself a healthy measure of Scotch and sipped it.

Getting K.C. Cameron assigned to the 214th was a stroke of genius. Granted, he'd never met the man but his photography was legendary.

Lard took another sip of whisky and chuckled. This was going to drive Boyington bat crap crazy. Maybe the unit would finally come up to snuff on regulations if they were under constant scrutiny by the press.

 **XXX**

Thirty-six-hundred miles away, in Pearl Harbor, K.C. Cameron stepped out of the base press corps office and closed the door. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the palm trees were waving in the breeze. The Naval base shone with crisp efficiency. The Navy wouldn't have it any other way. Another day in paradise, if you could ignore the war going on around you.

Cameron got into the first available Jeep, conveniently ignoring that it probably belonged to someone else, revved the engine and took off for the guest quarters. Time to load up gear and be on the tarmac at 1100 to ship out to the next assignment.

The posting to Pearl was never meant to last, Cameron mused. Since Dec. 7 of '41, there'd been no lack of press here. The real need for coverage was deeper in the South Pacific Theatre, where the campaign against the Japanese was red hot.

 _Where the hell was Vella La Cava?_

 **XXX**

"K.C. Cameron is coming here?" Bobby Boyle sounded like a kid on Christmas morning. "To be stationedwith us?" He high-fived TJ Wiley, who looked just as dazzled. The rest of the squadron was buzzing as they gathered in the Sheep Pen.

"Am I the only one who doesn't know who this guy is?" Greg said. Cameron wasn't even here yet and he was already a pain.

"Only one of the hottest combat correspondents to hit the rags," Boyle said. "Right up there with Ernie Pyle. Wait. Be right back." He bolted from the Sheep Pen. Minutes later, he returned, panting, and tossed a tattered copy of The London Times onto the table. It was four months out of date.

"Got this from a guy on a supply transport a few weeks ago. It's full of Cameron's stuff."

The front page photo showed a Supermarine Spitfire careening toward a grass landing strip amidst billowing plumes of smoke, ground personnel running toward it with extinguishers. Inside page photos showed British pilots vaulting into the cockpits of their planes and standing amidst the rubble of shattered buildings. There were others of them in briefings, playing cards, working with mechanics, being treated by medics.

Just like La Cava, Greg thought. Different enemy, different island, same war. He had to admit, the man did have a gift for capturing the urgency of the moment. The close ups showed faces full of desperate energy and raw emotion. These pictures had been taken by someone right in the middle of the action, not a bystander on the sidelines.

Great. Not only had Lard saddled the 214th with a journalist, he'd found one who didn't have the good sense to stay out of the way.

Greg poured a healthy measure of Scotch and tossed it down.

"All right you meatheads, here's the deal. We're going to give this guy a good old-fashioned Black Sheep welcome and then all bets are off. The faster we get him off this rock, the better. Do I make myself clear?"

How hard could it be to get rid of one reporter?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

" _I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it." Mae West_

As the C-47 made its final approach to the Vella La Cava air strip, Kate Cameron tucked a few errant curls back into her tidy chignon. Well, it had been tidy when she left Espritos. It was anyone's guess how it looked now.

The transport wasn't exactly like flying first class. She shifted uncomfortably on the narrow seat and smoothed her skirt. Across from her, wedged between supply crates, four Navy ensigns were nursing hangovers. They'd spent the whole flight holding their heads and groaning. Such was the extent of their misery, they hadn't even acknowledged her.

She pulled out a compact and retouched her lipstick. She wasn't nervous. She had gotten over _nervous_ the first night she was in the Blitz. But you never got a second chance to make a first impression. Walking into a new assignment, she wanted to make that first impression count.

The face reflected in the compact's mirror showed high cheekbones and hazel gray eyes fringed with dark lashes. Her complexion was glowing. The two weeks of sunshine at Pearl had been a welcome change from the last year and a half in the United Kingdom. She was really tired of being cold and damp.

Eager for a change of scenery, she had taken this assignment in spite of the squadron's reputation. Apparently the Black Sheep of VMF 214 weren't exactly officers and gentlemen. So what else was new. Fighter pilots' reputations generally preceded them, no matter what part of the war you were in.

Her British editor had tried talking her out of moving halfway around the globe. It hadn't worked.

"Come on, Ian, I've been on half a dozen different RAF bases in the last year and before that I was in London for the Blitz, how much worse can an island in the South Pacific be?" She'd tossed back the rest of an excellent single malt whiskey and set the glass down with conviction. "If that's where they need a photographer, that's where I'm going."

She'd used her brief time at Pearl to research the Black Sheep. The squadron had formed less than a year ago and hadn't gotten much press. What brief coverage they'd received wasn't exactly complimentary.

" _This group of pilots is just as likely to knock each other out in a bar brawl as they are to knock enemy fighters from the sky,"_ wrote one reporter after a visit to the base. _"The fact they continue to perform at such a high level in combat is testament to the leadership of their commanding officer, Major Greg Boyington, who is most often found in whatever drinking establishment is nearest, when he's not in the brig."_

This was an opinion confirmed by the Navy officer who insisted on buying her a drink the previous night on Espritos. He had physicallly recoiled when she told him where she was going.

"Are you really sure you want to do that, ma'am? That is no place for a lady." She wasn't sure if he was talking about the island itself or its inhabitants.

Now, as she looked out the plane's window, Kate wondered what she'd gotten herself into. The base below her was nothing like the smooth grass airfields of Catterick and Lakenheath, where the RAF and US airmen flew their sorties.

The soft green fells of England had been replaced by jungle surrounding a rough collection of tents, shacks and equipment scattered along a muddy central track. She could see the flight line of sleek, blue aircraft used in the South Pacific Theatre. They were Corsairs, she recalled, not the Supermarine Spitfires and Hawker Hurricanes she was used to seeing in the fight against Hitler.

No, she thought firmly. Change was good. She was 22 years old, half a world away from home, in the middle of a war, scared spitless more often than she wanted to admit, and doing what she loved. She couldn't wait to meet her new unit.

XXX

As the transport lumbered down out of the late day sun, the Black Sheep gathered to welcome Lard's journalist. At least there was the promise of a rousing welcome party to look forward to.

They watched as corpsmen began unloading supplies from the plane. Canned goods, motor oil, large wooden crates of ammo and other miscellany were offloaded while the men waited impatiently.

Four Naval ensigns staggered out the C-47's passenger door, holding their heads and squinting in the sunlight. Several Black Sheep made rude comments.

The men fidgeted. Where was this Cameron fellow? Lard had confirmed he was arriving this evening.

Finally, a slight figure appeared in the doorway. A young woman wearing a slim fitting skirt, low pumps and a crisp white blouse paused on the top step. A stylish hat sat atop a mess of sun-streaked curls that were trying to escape from a knot at the nape of her neck. She was of medium height with a slender build. She lifted aviator-style sunglasses from her eyes as she surveyed the sprawl of trees, mud, tents, planes and men that constituted the 214th.

Greg knew she was going to be trouble the second she stepped out of the plane. Even in her conservative skirt and white blouse, she was a knockout. Nothing that looked like that could walk into the middle of the Black Sheep without causing problems.

Jim Gutterman let out a low whistle.

"Look at those legs," he said, his voice reverent.

"Damn," Don French echoed. "A guy could get wrapped up in those and never get away."

"If I was wrapped up in those legs, I sure as hell wouldn't be trying to get away," Jim said.

That brought a gale of laughter from the whole squadron.

Around him, Greg could feel the collective energy of the Black Sheep rise as they watched the girl descend. She wasn't a nurse. She wasn't wearing a uniform. Who was she? No one showed up on La Cava by accident. Climbing out of the jeep, he went to find out.

XXX

Kate stepped out of the plane and paused on the top step. A group of men were lounging against a couple of jeeps at the edge of the airstrip. She let her eyes rest on them briefly. If they were deliberately trying to be out of uniform, they were making a fine job of it. Was this her welcoming committee?

She slung the bag with her precious camera and lenses over her shoulder and picked her way down the stairs. As she did so, one of the men got out of a jeep and headed toward her, the others falling in behind him.

Without warning, a white cannon ball shot out of nowhere and bolted straight toward the plane, barking furiously as stubby legs churned through the mud.

Meatball loved women. He liked the way they smelled. He loved their voices and their touch. He adored Greg and he got along well with all of the Black Sheep, but that was a guy thing. He loved it when the nurses came to the Sheep Pen for a party, even though most of them wouldn't give him the time of day. Like the rest of the squadron, he never missed the chance to meet a new girl.

Kate turned in time to see the dog racing toward her, mud splattering in his wake as he careened straight through the puddles to reach this new goddess.

"Meatball! No! Come here!" someone yelled. The dog ignored the command and picked up speed.

Kate turned to face the flying white missile. Holding her ground she put out a hand and said in a low, clear voice, "Do _not_ jump on me, Dog."

Meatball screeched to a stop and planted his butt in the dirt. He sat there, tongue lolling idiotically out one side of his mouth and tail thumping enthusiastically.

"Good boy." Kate smiled. She liked dogs and hadn't expected to find one here. She bent to pet him.

That was her undoing. Delighted that this new goddess would deign to touch him, Meatball leaped up and planted a paw on each shoulder. Caught off balance, Kate tipped backward onto her bum in the dirt.

She said something distinctly un-ladylike and threw up her hands to push the dog away. He was blissfully licking her neck. She was laughing in spite of it all – she really did like dogs - and trying to wrestle her balance back when the dog vanished and a hand appeared in her line of sight.

"I apologize," said a male voice, "my dog has manners but they're all bad."

Kate took the offered hand and was pulled easily upright. She was looking into a pair of stunning blue eyes. Their owner was trying, and failing, to keep a straight face.

He wasn't tall but anything he might have lacked in height he made up for in muscle. Broad shoulders tapered to a flat waist. Dark hair fell across his forehead. In a T-shirt and fatigues, he was as informally clad as the rest of the group. Those blue eyes wandered slowly up and down her body before returning to her face.

Dimples highlighted his grin. His men fanned out into a semi circle to either side and Kate felt eight pair of eyes on her like a physical touch. Typical fighter squadron, she thought. She could practically smell the testosterone.

"Your dog is extremely friendly," she said, trying to brush off her skirt. Oh, she'd made a first impression all right. Ass over tea kettle in the mud, legs flying up in the air. There were muddy paw prints on her blouse and she knew without looking her stockings were ruined, too.

"My dog has extremely good taste." Pause. "I'm Major Greg Boyington, welcome to the 214th," the man said, "And you are. . .?" His voice trailed off.

 _This_ was Boyington? She was prepared for arrogance. She was prepared for hostility or drunkenness or the inevitable "Why aren't you at home where a girl belongs?" attitude. She was not prepared for blue eyes and that easy smile.

She had bigger problems than that, Kate thought, shaking herself mentally. He didn't know who she was. Clearly, no one had told him. And now she had to go through the whole sticky dance to explain.

This wasn't the first time. She never used her full name on bylines or photo credits and carefully avoided publicity. Scoring good assignments meant walking the tightrope between talent and politics. The RAF coverage had been a stroke of luck that launched her career after the Blitz, but editors still weren't crazy about sending "girls" into combat and high ranking officers were even less inclined to give them the stamp of approval. She wanted to be where the news was and if that meant being the anonymous "K.C. Cameron," that was fine with her.

She let the heavy camera bag slide to the ground and straightened her shoulders. She held out her hand. "Good to meet you, Major. I'm Katherine Christine Cameron, with the Associated Press."


	3. Chapter 3

" _Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists primarily in dealing with men." Joseph Conrad, author_

 **CHAPTER 3**

The brows over the blue eyes arched. The smile cooled imperceptibly.

"As assigned by Colonel Thomas Lard," Kate added. Then, just in case they were all dense, "I'm K.C. Cameron. You can call me Kate."

There was a collective intake of breath by the men, then silence. A bird hooted in a nearby tree.

"This is the 214th, isn't it? Or did I get off on the wrong island?" Kate kept her voice light.

"Katherine Christine Cameron," Boyington repeated slowly. Again, his eyes traveled over her from head to toe, then to the battered camera bag at her feet and the worn trunks of gear and dark room supplies being carried out of the plane's hold.

"I was told you were expecting me." Well, hell, _he_ wasn't making such a great first impression either, she thought.

"We were expecting you but we weren't . . . um . . . expecting _you_ ," said one of the men. He was tall, tow-headed and came the closest to being in something that resembled a uniform.

"What Larry means is we were expecting a Christopher, not a Christine," Boyington said. This raised a whole new set of problems. He had originally planned to have the fellow bunk with Gutterman and TJ, which might have been enough to drive him off in short order without any extra effort.

Then an air raid two days ago had left exactly one half of the tent – TJ's half – stitched full of holes by a low-flying Zero that had blasted across the base, sending personnel swearing and diving for foxholes. The only thing that had kept the inhabitants of the tent from being filled with holes as well was the fact they had been at the hospital on the other end of the island, having largely non-existent injuries from that morning's mission checked out by skeptical nurses. Replacement canvas for the tent roof had been requisitioned. When or if it would actually get here was anyone's guess. In the interim, TJ had moved in with Boyle and French, while Gutterman stayed in the side of the tent that you couldn't see daylight through.

Now he had to find somewhere else to put her. What was Lard thinking, sending a woman into his squadron? Maybe Lard hadn't known, either. _He_ hadn't even known who Cameron was until Boyle told him. Oh, Lard must have known, all right. Boyington was not in the mood to be charitable when it came to Colonel Lard.

Jim stepped forward. His eyes took a leisurely stroll up and down the girl's figure, lingering several times.

"She can still bunk with me, Pappy, we'll work it out," he said. Turning back to Kate, he added, "I've only got the one cot in my tent but I'll let you choose, top or bottom. The pleasure's all mine."

For half a second, Greg considered reprimanding his executive officer, then decided to let it go. Hazing was inevitable and if she couldn't take it, she wouldn't last long. Although if he had anything to say about it, she wasn't going to last long anyway.

Kate gave Jim a dazzling smile. In the same low, clear voice that had stopped the bull terrier in his tracks, she said, "If you're half as good as you think you are, the pleasure will be all mine, I'm sure."

The men howled with laughter.

"Hey Gutterman, why didn't you ever make me that offer?" TJ called out.

"Cuz I knew you'd always want to be on top," Jim snarled back.

Boyington sighed. It was going to take a while to sort this out.

"Casey, Boyle, take her gear to the VIP tent," Greg ordered. He was doing fast mental calculations about what was currently stored in the VIP tent. He wasn't even sure there was a cot in there. It might have gotten traded at some point in the last year. He turned to Kate.

"Let me buy you a drink to make up for my rude dog," he said, picking her hat up off the ground and handing it to her.

"I like your rude dog," Kate replied. "That was the most enthusiastic welcome I've ever had." Meatball was rolling around in the dirt at her feet, unabashedly flopping on his back. She bent and rubbed the dog's belly. Straightening, she looked at her skirt and the muddy pawprints on her blouse. "I think I'd like to change first."

"These two will show you your tent. The Sheep Pen is that way on the left," he said, jerking his thumb in that direction. "Come down when you're ready for that drink."

She nodded and swung into the jeep, unintentionally displaying those spectacular legs. She smiled at Boyle, who looked dumbstruck behind the steering wheel, and the jeep pulled away.

Greg watched them go. She was easy on the eyes, no complaints there. Young, but that was fine by him. Everyone on this damn rock was younger than him anyway. She'd handled Gutterman with the ease of someone who was used to giving as good as she got. Under the right circumstances, she had a lot of potential. But she was still civilian press and that pretty much trumped everything else.

 **XXX**

Kate let her camera bag slump to the floor and dropped her hat on top of it. She stood in the silence of the VIP tent, looking around. Casey and Boyle had carried her trunks in, then left amidst assurances to see her later at the Sheep Pen.

This was different from England, all right. There, she'd been billeted in a series of tiny flats above pubs or in rooming houses near the base she was covering. The accommodations hadn't been much to write home about but they always had solid walls, hot and cold running water and a private loo. It looked like those days were gone.

This looked more like a supply tent than guest quarters. It was so packed with tarp-covered crates there was barely room for a bunk shoved against one wall. It didn't look like they got too many VIPs in this corner of the war. She would have to requisition a desk for her typewriter.

Curious, she lifted the corner of a nearby tarp and took a step back in surprise. Cases of Scotch whisky with European labels were stacked three high and four wide. Intrigued, she lifted another tarp. More cases of Spam, tinned cookies, motor oil and Australian-label wine. Shaking her head, she dropped the tarp. She had no idea what was going on but she was pretty sure there had not been a VIP in this tent for a good long time.

Undoing the clasp of her trunk, she decided her days of wearing fashionable clothes were over, too, although that didn't really break her heart. Fashionable clothes were great, if you wanted men to look at you. If you were trying to blend in, the less you gave them to look at, the better.

Stepping out of her pumps, she unzipped the skirt and tossed it onto her cot. The mud spattered blouse followed. As predicted, the stockings were a lost cause. She pulled on a clean white blouse and a pair of khaki trousers. She rummaged through her trunk until she found a pair of socks and after tying the laces on worn, ankle-high leather boots, she headed for the door, cuffing up her sleeves as she went.

Someone had hung a small shaving mirror on the tent's center pole and she caught sight of her reflection. Her hair was a complete wreck, spilling out of its attempted confinement in a reckless tumble of curls. She took a few minutes to finger comb it loose and braid it into a plait over one shoulder. There. That would do. Primping, too, was overrated in her line of work.

She paused, hand over her camera bag, but decided against it. Tonight wasn't work. Tonight was social. Tonight, she would start figuring out who the Black Sheep were and what stories they had to tell. The war would still be around in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

" _Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough." Mark Twain_

 **Chapter 4**

"Kate!" "Hey, Katie!"

A cheer went up as Kate let the screen door to the Sheep Pen bang behind her. At least the guys sounded happy she was there, although Boyington's tone had certainly cooled once he found out who she was. She knew the squadron hadn't been on the receiving end of good press in the past and it looked like she got to pay the tab for it. She hoped this evening would be a start in getting the Black Sheep to open up and talk to her. They were all on the same side, after all.

The major was good to his word about buying her a drink, though. He was leaning against the bar with a calculating half-smile on his face and raised a glass in her direction as she wove her way through the tables.

"What'll it be, Cameron, Scotch or beer?" His voice carried over the general din. She could tell every eye in the room was on her. Probably not the time to ask if they had a nice merlot, she thought.

"Scotch will be fine," she said, wondering what watered-down jungle juice passed for whiskey in this tail end of the world. Was the stash of high-end stuff in her tent really an extension of the bar stock or, more than likely, being used as black market currency? She glanced around at the building's comfortably shabby interior. A juke box was thumping along the wall, accented by occasional squawks of "Banzai!" and "Sayonara!" from a crow tethered to a perch. A sign across one wall warned "No gambling." A poker game with a pile of cash in the center of the table was underway beneath it.

Boyington poured a liberal splash from a bottle into a tin cup.

"Welcome to the 214th," he said, handing it to her, "Around here, we brush our teeth with Scotch."

"To the 214th," Kate raised her glass and took a sip. If she'd learned anything during her time in the UK, it was how to appreciate good whisky. The liquid burned smoothly all the way to the pit of her stomach, releasing smoky tendrils that lingered on the back of her throat and temporarily knocked the air out of her lungs.

"I'd like to know," she said, when she got her breath back, "how you get better Scotch in the South Pacific than they have in Edinburgh?"

The group laughed and a couple of the guys thumped her on the back.

"Just one of the many services we offer here," Bobby Boyle said, producing several more bottles from under the bar. Someone splashed more alcohol into her cup. The welcome party had started.

Within minutes, a jeep pulled up in front of the building and offloaded half a dozen nurses from the hospital at the other end of the island. News traveled fast and any excuse for a party was a good one.

As they streamed into the Sheep Pen amidst more shouts of welcome, one of the nurses froze when she caught sight of Kate.

"Katie? Oh my God, Katie, it's you!"

Kate's head snapped around at the familiar voice.

"Dee? Dee-Dee Ryan!" She bolted across the room to wrap her arms around the other woman.

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd been reassigned to Pearl," Dee Ryan was short and trim in a Navy's nurse's uniform, her dark hair bobbing as she held her friend at arm's length.

"You can't swing a cat in Pearl without hitting a photographer these days. AP bounced me out of there and sent me here," Kate answered. "What are _you_ doing here? Your last letter said you were trying to transfer out of London."

"The mail is horrible, I've been here two months already," Dee replied, pulling her friend to a table. "Sit! Tell me everything! You look adorable in trousers – you've got the figure to make fashion risks work. Oh hello, Larry." She paused for a minute to wrap her arms around Larry Casey's neck and give him a very thorough kiss.

"You two know each other?" Casey asked, when he came up for air.

"Only since first grade," Kate said, overwhelmed to find her best friend in the last place on earth she expected. It was good to know she had an ally here. The natives seemed to be friendly but she knew without Boyington's approval, that tide could turn in a heartbeat.

"Larry, be a love and bring drinks," Dee said, dragging Kate to a table. "Katie and I have a lot of catching up to do."

As it turned out, that was nearly impossible. Alcohol flowed. Music played. Singly and in groups, the squadron members introduced themselves, bought her drinks and asked her to dance. The latter resulted in some glowering looks from the nurses. Kate was acutely aware that not only was she the new girl on the base, she was the new girl who was going to be living with the Black Sheep. She decided there probably wasn't much else that could trump _that_ degree of scandal.

The pilots did not seem at all scandalized at the prospect. They swung her across the dance floor, asking a hundred questions and promising to show her around the base in the morning, take her to the beach in the afternoon, build her a brand new dark room and re-hang the moon, should she desire it. She hadn't needed to worry about them opening up to her.

She put names with faces: Don French, whose father was a newspaper publisher in the states; two Bobbys – Anderson, a lot taller than her and an excellent dancer, and Boyle, a lot shorter and tended to step on her feet; Jerry Bragg, who was built like, and apparently had been, a football star; TJ Wiley, quick with a charming smile and a smooth line, and Larry Casey, who was absolutely besotted with Dee and only danced with her at Dee's insistence.

And Jim Gutterman.

Kate had just sunk into a chair after dancing a lively Glenn Miller number with French, who'd excused himself in search of a cigarette. Jim appeared with a drink in each hand. He set them down in front of her and spun a chair around to straddle it.

"So darlin', whattaya say you and me take a ride down to the beach?" he said, handing her another shot of whisky.

She picked up the glass, studied its amber contents.

"If I drink this, am I obligated to go with you?"

"No. Just think of it as encouragement," Jim said, an easy smile on his face. Kate had seen that smile a hundred times before on a hundred different faces – the self-assured arrogance of a pilot who thinks he's irresistible to women.

She tossed the whisky back, caught her breath.

"Listen, Tex," she said, leaning closer. She was aware of several others listening with open interest. "This isn't my first rodeo. You tell me why I should jump on the first bull to come down the chute when I don't even know if he's good for eight seconds."

At the table next to them, assorted Black Sheep roared with laughter.

Jim tossed back his own drink and stood up.

"Shot down in flames. Who knew the lady was an ace?" He extended a hand. "If you won't sleep with me, will you at least dance with me?"

 **XXX**

"Whattaya think of her, Greg?" Jim dropped into a chair. Kate was dancing with Bragg now and doing an admirable job of keeping his hands from roaming either north or south of her waist.

"I'm trying not to," Greg answered. "What's a girl like that doing in the middle of this war?"

Kate had changed out of the muddy skirt and was wearing trousers now. A shame, he thought, to hide those legs although the pants accentuated the shape of her hips nicely.

"Seems perfectly happy to be here." Jim hadn't been inclined to consider much beyond the girl's curves. "If all reporters looked like that, I might be persuaded to give some in-depth interviews."

Greg shook his head. "She'll serve us up on a platter for Lard if she stays. I give her three days, tops, and she'll have her pretty little ass on the first transport out of here."

"You got something in mind?"

Greg watched as Kate took Bragg's hand off that pretty little ass and repositioned it at her waist. He grinned.

"I've always got something in mind." He stood up.

"Where are you going?" Jim asked.

"I'm going to dance with her. It's a welcome party, after all."

He tapped an unsteady Bragg on the shoulder.

"I'm cutting in. Go sit down before you fall down."

"Sure thing, Pappy," Jerry slurred. "Thank you, Katherine, for a lovely dance." He staggered off.

Greg slipped one hand into Kate's and rested the other on her waist. They swung back into the music.

"Did he call you Pappy?" Kate asked, her tone disbelieving.

"Yeah, I'm the old man of this squadron."

Kate laughed. Boyington wasn't exactly what she would call _old._

"How much younger are the others?"

"Twenty or 21," he said. "I'm 35. They're always reminding me of it."

"Old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway?" she said. Her voice was all innocence but he saw the tell-tale sparkle in her eye.

 _You don't know the half of it, sweetheart,_ Greg thought.

"Do you have a girl here, too?" She asked, glancing around the room. "I feel like I have a target on my back, the way some of the nurses are looking at me."

Greg thought the feeling was justified. Any girl who looked like that would have the Black Sheep eating out of her hand in no time. Not to mention she was going to be living on the base with them, which was probably going to raise another whole set of problems for him to deal with.

But who was he to borrow trouble? At the moment, she was feather-light in his arms, balanced neatly on her feet as they swung around the floor. He'd never danced with a girl wearing fatigue pants and boots. He'd never danced with one who could hold her alcohol like she did, either. He'd watched her put away shot after shot with practiced ease and little apparent effect.

"No, I don't have a girl here," he said. "And where did you learn to drink like that?"

"Have you ever been to the West Riding of Yorkshire in January, Major?" Her voice was teasing. "There's really not a whole lot else to do."


	5. Chapter 5

" _Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere." Mae West_

 **Chapter 5**

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a war like this?" Greg asked. The dance floor had thinned as men and women paired off and drifted into the night.

"What makes you think I'm a nice girl?"

Greg studied her. Her hazel eyes were sparkling and her face was flushed with heat and whisky. She exuded a slightly reckless joie de vivre that was probably due to the alcohol but it looked good on her.

"How many times have you been propositioned tonight?" he countered.

Kate reflected.

"Um, quite a few, but three I remember in particular – French offered to walk me back to my tent so I didn't get lost. Anderson offered to show me where they keep the extra Scotch, although I think most of it must be in my tent, from the looks of it. Wiley asked me to come with him to the radio shack to check on messages. No, four, Jim wanted to show me the beach. Given his offer when I got off the plane, no way was I going anywhere with him."

"I know you're a nice girl because you didn't leave with any of those meatheads," Greg said.

It was Kate's turn to laugh.

"Like I told Jim, this isn't my first rodeo, Major. I've spent the last year stationed with fighter pilots and please don't be offended, but you guys are all the same."

Greg didn't look at all offended. He looked pleased.

"How'd you end up in this line of work?"

"When I was in high school, I got a part-time job working as an assistant in a photography studio. I loved it. After high school, I went to college to study journalism, but I dropped out after a couple of years. My parents died, and after their farm sold and all the bills were paid, there wasn't any money left. I moved to California to be closer to my sister, Sarah – she's building bombers for Douglas Aircraft in Long Beach now – and got a job at the San Francisco Examiner. They hired me as a reporter and to take pictures and I got pretty good at it. I bought my own camera and started doing some freelancing.

"Dee –" she nodded toward Dee and Casey, who were very occupied with one another " - had graduated from nursing school and joined the Navy and was stationed at a hospital in England. I sent her some pics I'd taken, just shots from a local horse racing track, and she showed them to a friend of a friend and I guess the rest is history.

"The Associated Press hired me as a correspondent when said I was willing to live overseas. I traveled a lot at first, all over Europe, then worked mostly in London. Then a year with US and RAF units and now I'm here. "

"You just picked a career that sent you into the middle of a war? What did your family say?"

"It's what I do," she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "And I don't have any family left, besides my sister, so no one really said anything."

The music changed from a fast beat to something slower. Couples began swaying against one another. Kate thanked Greg for the dance and excused herself to the table where Dee and Casey were sitting.

Greg followed her. She was, by all accounts, an attractive nuisance but he hoped with the application of a little more alcohol he could get her to open up about Lard's agenda in placing her at the 214th. So far, it sounded like she'd ended up here purely by accident and he was having trouble buying that.

He pulled out a chair for her and Kate was starting to sit down when one of the Navy ensigns who had been on the transport from Espritos stepped in front of her. He was wearing Navy whites and cast a scornful glance at both Greg and Casey.

"Hey, honey! Wanna take a spin around the floor with a guy who knows how to wear a uniform?" His speech just starting to slur. Apparently he had managed to cure one hangover in time to start another.

Kate gave him a cool gaze.

"No. Thank you." She started to turn away.

"Aww, c'mon sugar," he wheedled. Then turning to Greg said, "Mind if I take a turn?"

"She's not mine," Greg said casually. "She can dance with whoever she wants."

He was standing behind her and Kate felt, rather than saw, his body language change. She'd been around enough bar brawls to recognize the subtle shift in posture that marks a precursor to male violence.

"Hear that, honey? C'mon and let me show you a good time." The Navy uniform was oblivious.

"It's your choice, Cameron. Would you like to dance with this gentleman?" Greg asked. His hand was easy on the small of her back.

"No, Major, I don't believe I would," she replied. "But this gentleman doesn't seem to want to take no for an answer."

The white uniform pressed in closer, a sneer on his face. "My friends and I could show you a good time. Better than anything these . . . Marines . . . could do."

Kate's eyes narrowed. At the table, Casey quietly stood up. Dee edged out of the way. Kate was vaguely aware of the remaining Black Sheep staging themselves around the room at intervals.

"I like my men a little bit older," Kate said, "not boys who can't hold their liquor."

"I think the lady's telling you she's not interested," Greg said conversationally.

"I think you need to stay out of this." The ensign made a clumsy grab at Kate's arm.

He missed, Kate stepped back and Greg caught him with a solid right. The guy dropped like a stone.

One of his buddies charged to his defense. Kate upended the table into his path. Beer cans went flying as it caught the guy square in the midriff. He went down backward with a whoof of expelled air. The other two Navy men leaped in, fists swinging. Jim appeared out of nowhere and landed a quick one-two punch that sent both him and one white uniform crashing into a nearby table.

Then it was a free-for-all. The nurses squealed and ran, except for Dee who took up a position near the bar and swung a two-by-four as the occasion warranted. Furniture cracked and bodies tumbled.

Kate stepped out of the way as Anderson went flying past her, only to fall backward into the hot embrace of the fourth Navy man. He wrapped an arm around her waist and covered her neck with sloppy kisses, pawing at her clothes. She didn't waste time struggling but brought her booted foot down hard on his arch. When he grunted in surprise and released her, she spun around, kneed him in the groin and finished with an elbow to the side of his nose. He toppled over silently.

Across the bar, the Black Sheep were laying waste with an almost practiced efficiency. Dee popped up and whacked one of the Navy guys across the shoulders with her two-by-four. Distracted, he tottered. Bragg finished him off with a roundhouse punch, then collapsed onto the floor himself.

Greg was still on his feet after putting down the third Navy guy. He and French tag-teamed on the first offender who'd reappeared and all three of them disappeared in a melee of flying fists.

The guy she'd kneed in the groin was upright and lumbering toward her. Kate dodged out of his way and caught a flying elbow across her mouth from another combatant. Pain exploded as she stumbled and rolled coming up hard against the wall, head spinning. From her vantage point, she could see the flash of a white uniform behind Jim, who had just laid out the fellow she'd had hit with the table.

"Jim!" she yelled. "Behind you!"

Jim spun and stopped the ensign's attack with a solid punch that sent him straight at Greg, who tossed him upright and hit him again.

And then it was over. Four white Navy uniforms crashed through the door and disappeared into the darkness. The few remaining nurses emerged from behind the bar. Dee put down her club. Greg offered Kate a hand and pulled her to her feet. She was close enough to smell sweat and laundry soap. His dark hair was falling across his forehead, he had a cut over one eye and he looked completely in his element.

"You okay?" He asked, his eyes straying to her mouth.

Kate felt her lip with the back of her hand. It came away bloody.

"Here." Greg pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She thanked him and dabbed at her split lip.

"'S okay, I still have all my teeth," she said, wincing.

Jim slung an arm around Kate's shoulders.

"I like you, darlin'. Even if you won't bunk with me."

Kate laughed and winced again. Her shirt was torn along the shoulder seam. Her lip was bleeding. She was going to have a thumping hangover in the morning. First impressions were definitely overrated.


	6. Chapter 6

" _Every man I meet wants to protect me. I can't figure out what from." Mae West_

 **Chapter 6**

In the morning, Kate couldn't decide what hurt worse – her head or her lip. What in the world had she been trying to prove last night? She got dressed in trousers and another white shirt, did a cold water toilette and went in search of coffee. The sun was climbing over the horizon as the base slowly came to life.

She found some of the Black Sheep in the mess. They were sporting a collection of scrapes and bruises from the night before and she was pretty sure they didn't feel any better than she did but they greeted her with cheerful waves.

She helped herself to coffee and toast and had just eased herself onto a bench when Greg strode in, looking no worse for the previous night's dust-up. Jim was right behind him.

"Cameron!" Greg looked surprised to see her. "How're you feeling this morning?"

 _Damn_ , Kate thought. The man must be impervious to alcohol.

She winced. Jim laughed.

"A little hung over?" He sat down next to her. Greg sat down opposite.

"Yeah," she admitted. "A little."

"I didn't expect to see you up this early," Greg said, studying her with curiosity. "Half my guys aren't even out of their bunks yet."

"I have a job to do, Major," she said, trying to sip coffee without hurting her lip. "I can't do it if I'm asleep."

She gave up on the coffee and returned his frank gaze. Even in her hungover state she could appreciate a good looking man. That lazy smile was making her head pound even worse. It ought to be illegal.

"Since you missed the briefing yesterday," Greg continued, "We go up at 0600, flying cover for a bomber squadron headed for Rabaul. They drop their eggs and we're home in time for lunch." He paused. "I don't care what you do between now and the time we take off, just stay out of the way and leave my guys alone. I want their minds on the mission, not being interviewed for the newspaper. Is that clear?"

Kate narrowed her eyes. It's all music and dancing until someone decides the journalist might get in the way, she thought.

"If your boys can't keep their minds on what they're doing, I think that's your problem, not mine," she said. "I'm here to report news from the 214th, not be the next thing on their entertainment lineup."

"Maybe you should have thought about that last night before you drug half the squadron into a brawl." Greg pinned her with a hard blue stare.

" _I_ drug them into a brawl?" Kate shoved the bench back, nearly tipping Jim off, and went face to face with him over the table. "I seem to remember you being the first one to defend my honor, Major. And your boys were only too happy to join in."

"My mistake. Next time I'll let you handle it yourself, sweetheart."

"Not a problem," she snapped. "You do your job, I'll do mine." Gathering up her coffee and uneaten toast, she stormed out of the mess. Boyle, who was just coming in, leaped out of her way.

Greg waited half a beat and stalked out behind her. He ran into Boyle and nearly knocked him over. Once outside, Greg checked to see what direction Kate had gone, then went the opposite way.

Boyle staggered into the mess, looked around and said, "I got 10 bucks says she's gone by tomorrow." Black Sheep began pulling out money and placing their bets.

 **XXX**

Kate was back in her tent, enjoying her breakfast in peace and quiet, undisturbed by men. Since she was on a base full of men, she thought this was a fairly decent accomplishment. Last night's whiskey-soaked glow had burned off in the hard light of morning and it was clear the Black Sheep, or at least their leader, had little use for her beyond a spin around the dance floor and an excuse to slug anything wearing a Navy uniform.

She sighed and set down the coffee. She hadn't expected Boyington to welcome her with open arms but she didn't appreciate being told to stay out of the way. She couldn't do her job by being a wallflower. If he didn't like it, he was just going to have to get over it. There was a fair amount of camera work she could do from a distance with her larger lenses and she planned to do it as much as possible, but interviews had to be done face-to-face and after last night, she was pretty sure the guys would talk to her. She just didn't know when or how she was going to make that happen.

Outside, Boyington was bellowing at his pilots.

"French! Casey! Get out of the rack! Flight line! Ten minutes!" He paused, then hollered. "That includes you, too, Cameron, if you can stay out of the way."

Kate rolled her eyes. Now there was an invitation a girl couldn't resist. No doubt he wanted to know where she was so he could tell her to go somewhere else.

She pulled on her photographer's vest and tucked several extra rolls of film into a pocket. Dropping the strap of her Nikon around her neck and stuffing a notebook in her back pants pocket, she ducked out of her tent and joined the que of pilots straggling toward the airstrip.

Jim fell in step with her and hooked his arm through hers. Apparently his CO's edict that she leave the pilots alone had not been issued in reverse.

"Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" Jim gestured to the line of Corsairs as mechanics and ground crew swarmed over them. The sun was above the horizon now, casting everything in a warm orange glow, and the sky was a pastel smear of pink and lavender as light reflected off low clouds.

"Yeah," Kate said without thinking. "All of you coming back in one piece."

Jim stopped in mid-stride to stare at her.

"Are you always this cheerful in the morning? You shoulda gone to the beach with me last night, you'd be in a better mood."

"Sorry," she said hastily. "Every time I watch boys take off, it's on my mind."

Stopping in front of the first plane, she craned her neck to look upward.

"They're so big!" she said in surprise. And they were. In comparison to the Spitfires she was used to, the Corsairs were substantially larger.

"Size matters, darlin'," Jim said.

Before she could think of a suitable reply, Greg appeared. He seemed resigned to finding her there.

"Cameron! Are you harassing my pilots?"

"No, sir," she said, going for levity, "this one's harassing me. I'm sure he won't let it happen again."

"I wouldn't count on it," Greg said. Then turning, he bellowed, "TJ!" The lanky young man was with the rest of the group, although he wasn't in a flight suit. "Take Cameron somewhere she won't get run over."

"Yes, sir," TJ agreed. He was more than happy to spend time with Kate.

Amidst the scramble of pilots and ground crew prepping for the mission, TJ led her to a stack of empty ammunition crates piled next to the mechanic's shed. He gave her a hand as she climbed up behind him. With the sun warm on her back and her hangover fading with the adrenaline rush of the scene before her, Kate raised her camera and framed shots of pilots and crew. She wanted to be closer but this would do. For today.

The Corsairs' engines coughed to life as cylinders fired and caught. The throbbing cadence of the 2,000 horsepower Pratt and Whitney engines split the morning air like a war chant until the very ground hummed with it. Even atop her perch, Kate could feel the ground vibrate as the planes spun and powered down the air strip. Their roar was deafening as they lifted into the sky.

And then they were gone, vanishing above the cloud deck and into the distance. Suddenly aware of the silence, Kate lowered her camera, surprised to find herself teetering on the edge of the crates.

"C'mon," TJ said, giving her a hand as they scrambled down. "I'll buy you another cup of coffee and you can write your first story about me."

"Why are you grounded this morning?" Kate asked.

"I hit a tree earlier this week. You can't fly a plane that's missing a wing tip," he said cheerfully. "Well, actually, you can, I've done it. Did you know the first time I flew with the Black Sheep, I nearly shot down Gutterman? And it wasn't long after that, I shot down Pappy. Twice. By accident, of course. Well, the second time was on purpose, since he was flying a Jap plane."

Kate was trying hard to absorb this ramble of information.

"Are you serious?" She didn't know which thread to pursue first.

"I'm lyin', I'm dyin'," he quipped.

Kate pulled out her notebook and a pen as they walked back through the base.

"So tell me how you ended up in this squadron."

"Long story," TJ said. "It all started back in '41, right after Pearl. Greg had just left the Flying Tigers in China and I was up on court martial . . ."

 **XXX**

The morning sped by. Kate spent a couple of hours getting the Black Sheep's history from TJ, who also gave her a tour of the base and introduced her to Hutch, the chief mechanic. She spent a couple of more fascinating hours talking to him. He reminded her of the RAF mechanics she'd known, only he was keeping this squadron airborne with a supply line that was unreliable at best and non-existent at worst. She got the distinct impression the stranglehold on supplies between Espritos and La Cava was not entirely due to the Japanese in the area.

When she told TJ she wanted to shoot photos of the squadron as they returned, he had suggested they drive up on a rocky overlook that paralleled the landing strip, one of the highest points on La Cava. He even went with her, since he said he didn't have anything else to do. Kate suspected he would have gone with her even if he did.

 **XXX**

As Greg had predicted, they were home in time for lunch. The squadron the Japanese scrambled off Rabaul that morning must have been one day out of flight school. The Black Sheep had made quick work of them and French had knocked down his fourth kill, leaving him one short of ace. They had flown home in high spirits.

As the squadron circled to land, Greg noticed a jeep with two figures in it parked on an outcropping near the strip. He keyed his throat mike.

"You guys go on down. I need to check out some scenery." He broke to the left as the rest of the Black Sheep dropped toward the base.

With the mission completed and his boys safely home, Greg let his thoughts drift back to Kate. He'd put her firmly out of his mind this morning after she'd stormed out of the mess tent, looking furious and entirely too interesting for her own good.

He hadn't gotten any more information out of her last night, thanks to the damn Navy getting in the way. She'd taken orders from him this morning, reluctantly, and left the Sheep alone before they went up although it was clear she didn't appreciate being told what to do. Too bad. His unit, his rules. Now it was time to push her a little, to see how committed she really was to staying with the 214th. Or encourage her to leave. He wasn't sure which he wanted.

 **XXX**

TJ heard the squadron returning and automatically counted planes as they drew near enough to see. "They're all back!" he shouted, then watched as one plane broke away from the others. Kate was standing in the back of the jeep, eye glued to her camera which was affixed to a tripod.

Focused on what she was doing, Kate was oblivious to everything else. It had become an occupational hazard. Only when the roar of the approaching engine became overwhelming, did she look up. The fighter was nearly on top of them, coming in low and fast.

"Duck!" TJ yelled. Kate thought this was inadequate advice both in terms of timing and magnitude. Diving into a foxhole would have been more appropriate. With one fast reflex, she freed her camera from the tripod and threw herself over the side of the jeep. She felt fabric tearing in her pants as she hit loose rock. The Corsair's massive 13-foot diameter prop sent up a ground storm of debris as the plane bore down on them.

The sound was deafening and Kate swore she could feel the jeep rocking at her back. At that instant she was in complete sympathy with the Japanese pilots who called the planes "whistling death." Something blew off the back of the jeep and landed with a crash, scattering in several pieces. Her tripod. She risked a glance up and could see the multiple rising sun flags painted on the plane's side as it swept past, a scant 100 feet above the ground.

Boyington. Of course it was.

And then he was gone. Soaring back into the sky and curving toward the airstrip like nothing had happened.

That arrogant son of a bitch.

Kate scrambled to her feet and tossed her camera at TJ. He caught it and barely had time to leap into the passenger seat as she threw the vehicle into gear and gunned it. They careened down the hillside and screeched onto the flight line just as the major was climbing out of his Corsair. She punched the jeep down the line, narrowly missing Anderson, who leaped backward with a yelp.

The Black Sheep's leader appeared around the nose of his bird, peeling off his headgear and laughing with Gutterman and French, slapping the latter on the back in congratulations for his kill.

Kate flew out of the jeep and stormed toward him.

"In what universe did you think that was funny? I nearly broke my neck, my pants are ripped and my tripod's in pieces!" 

Boyington looked surprised. He looked at Gutterman.

"Do you know what she's talking about?"

"No, Pappy." 

He looked at French.

"How about you, lieutenant?" 

"No sir," French answered promptly.

"What do you mean you don't know!" Kate was furious. "Was that little flyover your idea of a joke?"

"How did you know it was me?" That seemed to interest him more than the fact she was chewing his ass for it in the first place.

"You were close enough I could count your kill flags – you've kind of got more of them than anyone else, you know," she broke off in incoherent sputters. He was grinning at her, looking for all the world like a little boy who wasn't sorry for what he'd done, only sorry that he'd gotten caught doing it.

She rounded on TJ, who had gotten out of the jeep and was standing behind her.

"And you!" She jabbed him in the chest with a finger. He took a step back. "You set me up! 'Come with me, Kate, I know a great place for you take pictures'," she mimicked. "If you ever do that again – "

Greg threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her off TJ. She glared at him.

"It's not his fault," he said. "Think of it as just another heartfelt welcome to the 214th. C'mon, let's go have a drink and celebrate French's fourth Zero." He turned to get into the jeep.

"Is there any problem you can't solve with alcohol?" Kate snapped.

He turned to face her.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm looking at it."

"Then you better make mine a double," Kate said, sliding into the passenger's seat and staring straight ahead. TJ hastily handed over her camera and jumped into the back with French and Gutterman.

Greg threw the jeep into gear and they spun off toward the Sheep Pen. "By the way," he said, "the back of your shirt's torn, too."


	7. Chapter 7

" _I became a journalist because I did not want to rely on the newspapers for information." Christopher Hitchens  
_

 **Chapter 7**

Later that afternoon, Kate was sitting in a corner of the Sheep Pen, reviewing notes from her morning conversations with TJ and Hutch. She had attended the mission debriefing and drank a toast in French's honor, then everyone went their own directions, leaving her with a head full of swirling thoughts. A story angle was forming in her mind and she would have preferred to pin it down in a quieter place, but working in her tent was nearly impossible, since she didn't have a desk there. Whisky, Spam, cookies, wine and engine oil but no desk.

She had drug her typewriter onto a table, which made a lousy desk but it would have to do. Around her, assorted Black Sheep were playing cards and darts. She'd been in newsrooms stateside that were worse, in terms of chaos, so she figured it was as good of a place to work as any.

She was not inclined to ask Greg for any favors in acquiring a desk because she was not going to put herself in debt to him, even though she personally thought _he_ owed _her_ one after that morning's fly over. The other pilots all knew about it by now and thought it was funny. Of course they did. They were men.

She didn't want to think about men in general or Greg in particular because it sent her mind reeling off in directions that had absolutely nothing to do with writing. The fact that she was drinking – and enjoying – whisky before noon was something else she didn't want to think about either.

She had gotten herself to a good place of not thinking about anything but putting her interview notes into a sensible order when Greg stuck his head in the door and said, "C'mon, Cameron, and bring your notebook." He let the door slap shut and disappeared.

Some men were impossible to ignore. She grabbed a notebook and pencil and bolted after him.

"If you're going to write about the Black Sheep, you need to understand what we do and how we do it," he said, not slowing down as she caught up. They were headed back to the flight line. "We do things a little different in the South Pacific than what you covered in England."

Which is a polite way of telling me you don't think I have a clue what I'm doing, Kate thought, but she kept her mouth shut. Sometimes discretion was the better part of, well, discretion.

"Hey, Katie!" Hutch waved from atop a ladder. He was half in, half out of a plane's engine.

"Hey, Hutch!" she returned.

"You're on first name basis with my mechanic now?" Greg asked.

"You wouldn't let me talk to your pilots this morning," she reminded him. "I spent some time with Hutch after you and your boys blasted out of here."

He made a noncommittal noise and stopped in front of the Corsair with rows of kill flags painted near the cockpit. Yeah, _that_ one looked familiar, Kate thought.

"How much do you know about our birds?" he asked.

"I know they're very loud when one is trying to land on my head," she said tartly.

"The Corsair is going to turn the war in the South Pacific," Greg continued, ignoring her. "The Zeroes are lighter and more maneuverable but Corsairs are faster and tougher. They climb at a rate of over 3,000 feet per minute and they have .50 caliber wing-mounted machine guns. That's better armament than the Zeroes, plus - why aren't you writing any of this down?"

"I have a very good memory," Kate said. "Faster, tougher, over 3,000 feet per minute climb rate, wing-mounted .50 caliber machine guns, better armed than Zeroes. Would you feel better if I was writing it down?"

"Yes."

With an exaggerated sigh, she pulled her notebook from her pocket and began scribbling.

"Anything for you, Boyington," she muttered.

"Promise?"

Kate blushed this time. He was just as bad as the rest of them. And damn it, all he had to do was look at her, just give her that _look_ , and she'd pretty much forgiven him for trashing another shirt this morning. She'd been on the base barely 24 hours and had already ruined a skirt, a pair of stockings, three shirts and a pair of pants. At this rate, she'd be running around starkers in a matter of days and wouldn't that make things interesting.

He was still expounding of the finer points of flying Corsairs when something caught her eye on the plane's rudder.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing.

A series of square metal patches were neatly riveted onto the body and each square bore the distinct advertising logo of Golden Ale beer.

"Beer cans? Why is your plane patched with beer cans?"

"Because we have a lot of them and they cover the holes," Greg answered. "Want to see what we can do with baling wire?"

"Baling – ? No. Seriously – why beer cans?" She was fascinated.

"I meant it - because we have a lot of them. Metal is hard to come by out here. We use whatever we can get our hands on. What we can't get through channels or trade for, we make ourselves. If we can't get new parts, we rebuild the old ones or scavenge off wrecked planes. Sometimes they hold up. Sometimes they don't. I've lost more pilots to equipment failure than I have to the Japanese."

Kate was scribbling in earnest now.

They were standing on the starboard side of his plane, the kill flags a reminder of the deadly purpose of the men who flew these machines day after day.

"C'mere," he said, cupping his hands together and holding them down. "Let me give you a leg up."

Without a second thought, Kate stepped onto his locked palms with her left foot and balanced one hand on his shoulder. He tossed her lightly onto the wing. She caught her balance, found the toe-holds and scrambled up to the cockpit.

Kate had grown up with an affinity for mechanical things, driving her parents' Minneapolis-Moline tractor and tearing down the country roads in their Ford farm truck, but she was the first to admit her sense of adventure was firmly attached to the ground. She had no desire to learn to fly an airplane.

She had very little desire to fly _in_ an airplane, either. The bigger the plane, the better, as far as she was concerned. Anything smaller than a transport quite frankly scared the hell out of her. The irony that her job was to provide news coverage of fighter pilots was not lost on her.

But this plane was safely on the ground and her curiosity was piqued. She braced her hands on the edges of the canopy and swung into the cockpit. Dropping into the seat, she looked around.

It was roomy by comparison to the Spitfires. It was also a completely foreign world. An array of gauges, wires, levers and other gadgets covered the panel in front of her. She closed her eyes and inhaled. The lingering ghosts of fuel and engine exhaust filled her nose.

Feeling completely out of her element, she thought of how deeply she respected the boy who flew these war birds – every single arrogant, bossy, skirt-chasing, brawling, drinking, propositioning, regulation-ignoring one of them. Even if TJ hadn't been lying to her and the entire squadron had been pulled out of a pool of court martial candidates, they were fighting to defend the United States and they were doing it in planes patched together with beer cans and rebuilt parts from the scrap yard. She smiled. She had locked down the angle for her first story.

She vaulted lightly out of the cockpit onto the wing and back to the ground. It was like sliding off of a horse. A very tall horse. Boyington was leaning against the wing, watching her. He hadn't offered to help her down. She hadn't asked, either.

Regaining her balance, she looked at him. "Okay, what's next?"

 **XXX**

Later that evening, Kate took Dee's suggestion from the night before, found a jeep and drove to the nurses' quarters to take a shower. The Black Sheep had made it abundantly clear she was welcome to use their shower facilities any time she wanted, including when they were using them. She had thanked them for their generous offer and fled in the opposite direction.

"So how was your first day with the 214th?" Dee asked while Kate combed out her wet hair.

"Let's see," Kate started ticking off points on her fingers. "I started the day with a hangover, got told by Boyington to stay out of his way and leave his pilots alone, got hit on by Gutterman, shot photos as they took off but I don't have a dark room set up yet so that's going nowhere, got the history of the Black Sheep from TJ – I'm not sure how much of it to believe - spent some time talking to Hutch – "

She paused, looked at the ceiling and continued. "Then the squadron came back and Boyington did a fly over that damn near killed me, I ripped a hole in my pants, ruined another shirt, drank whisky before noon, learned more about Corsairs than I thought possible in the afternoon and here I am. Business as usual. How was your day?"

Dee began laughing. Within seconds, she was laughing so hard she couldn't speak. Kate watched her friend in exasperation.

"What's so funny?" she said, then she started laughing too. It was contagious.

"Only you could have a day like that and act like it was normal. You're unbelievable." Dee paused to wipe tears from her eyes. "So you spent the afternoon with Major Boyington?" She was slightly in awe of Casey's commanding officer. She didn't know whether to believe half the stories she'd heard about him.

"Yeah, pretty much. We talked about the campaign in the Solomons. He doesn't trust me any further than he can throw me right now. He's pretty sure I won't get anything right in the newspapers and he definitely doesn't want me distracting his men."

"It's a little late for that," Dee said, busying herself with laundry on her bunk. "There is something you should know."

"What's that?" Kate was enjoying being clean and in clothing that currently did not have any holes in it. She figured at the rate she was going, it would be a temporary condition.

"There's a bet going on. Two bets, actually."

"On what?" Kate's eye's narrowed.

Dee fiddled with her laundry.

"On. What?" Kate repeated.

"On you."

"Betting on me? Who? What about?"

"It's the Black Sheep, the whole lot of them. The first bet is how long you're going to last here and the second one is if you do stay, which most of them are betting you won't, who you're going to sleep with."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" Kate exploded.

"I'm serious," Dee said, a little defensive. "They're the Black Sheep, they'll bet on anything and I mean anything."

"I'm not leaving and I'm not sleeping with any of them, either!" Kate shot back, indignant. "They might as well give their money back right now. And how did you find out about it?"

"Larry told me this morning. You know what pilots are like? Well, these guys are the worst. And it never stops, trust me. They would hit on you if they were half dead. Besides, when did you turn into the Virgin Mary?"

Dee had a point. Kate hadn't exactly been celibate the last few years. She hadn't exactly been promiscuous either. It just seemed wrong to be thinking about anything but her job when she'd only been here a day. Where the hell did those guys get off taking bets on something like that?

Dee shrugged.

"They started this morning. Actually I think they were going to start last night but what with the fight and all, they never got around to it. It started with how long you'd last here and then it kind of went from there."

Kate was still choking on her indignation. She was here to do a job and she wasn't going to tumble into bed with anyone just because he flew with the 214th. For God's sake, she had a few other things on her mind. Like doing photography without a dark room. Like ongoing diplomatic relations between her and Boyington. The man set off warning bells on so many different levels she didn't know where to start.

"What makes them think I'm going to sleep with any of them?" she demanded.

"They fly nurses as well as they fly planes and I think you have an even higher status than the nurses," Dee said. "You're way more available, if you know what I mean. You're living there all the time, we're at the other end of the island. They have to make it a point to find us. Which they do. On a regular basis," she added.

"Who's involved in this bet?" Kate didn't want to know. She really didn't. She wanted to get to know the Black Sheep without any pre-determined prejudices but she got the feeling forewarned was forearmed in this case.

"I think all of them are betting on how soon you decide you can't stand it here and pack it in. The current odds are you'll be gone in a few more days, although the second bet hinges on you staying, so it's kind of contradictory. They think you're going to leave but they really don't want you to leave. At least that's what Casey says.

"As for the second bet, Jim and TJ are the top money-getters." Dee laughed at the scandalized look on Kate's face. "TJ, because he really is a smooth operator. Watch out for him, seriously. And Jim. Well, because he's Jim. He's got a reputation and girls don't tell him no. But I think all of the boys want to think they're a contender. Except Casey, of course."

"Of course. Boyington isn't involved in this?"

Dee shook her head. "I think he's in on betting when you'll leave but he's what, 15 years older than you? So he's not a likely candidate otherwise. Although I don't know why, he's as much of a skirt chaser as any of them."

"Thirteen," Kate said, absently.

"Thirteen what?" Dee was puzzled.

"He's thirteen years older than me," Kate said, her voice carefully neutral. "He's 35. I'm 22. Why are you looking at me that way? It came up in conversation, that's all."

"I noticed you dancing with him last night."

"I danced with all the guys last night," Kate said practically.

"But not all the guys looked at you the way he did."

"That's because he doesn't want the press in the middle of his squadron and he's trying to figure out how to get me to leave without it looking like he's trying to get me to leave," Kate answered.

"That wasn't how a man looks at a woman he wants to get rid of," Dee said.

Kate waved her hand dismissively. This conversation was over. "Thanks for the shower, I'd better get back. There are so few lights in that place that once it gets dark, I'm afraid I'll end up in the wrong tent and that's is the last thing I need right now."

She collected her things and drove back to the base through the gathering dusk. After what Dee had just told her, she decided she'd better not turn her back on any of the Black Sheep. They were all going to have another think coming.


	8. Chapter 8

" _Of course I drink. I said I was a writer, didn't I?" Stephen King_

 **Chapter 8**

Dee had laughed at the description of her first day working at the 214th but Kate had a feeling that was going to be her new normal, give or take a few random hangovers. War correspondents did not have the luxury of a fixed beat or regular hours. The only thing consistent in her life right now was inconsistency.

She pondered the concept of normal while getting ready for bed. Normal girls met nice boys, got married, had babies and baked pies for church bazaars. She'd kissed normal good-bye two years ago when she threw in with the Associated Press and moved to Europe. Marriage, babies and pies had never been among her priorities.

Now, she thought normal was any condition that allowed her to stay in one piece long enough to capture the images and words that brought the war to the people at home. She'd thrown herself into her work with single-minded pursuit and didn't think much beyond the immediate future.

When it came to relationships with members of the opposite sex during war time, the concept of normal was pretty much non-existent in her experience. Passions were ignited by chance encounters and fueled by the uncertainty of the future. She'd heard "We could all die tomorrow" more times than she wanted to admit. Sometimes it worked.

Kate decided not to overthink things. It was going to take a while to adjust to whatever passed for normal on La Cava. She turned off the light in her tent. In the dark, she slipped out of her shirt and pants and pulled on the oversized man's shirt she'd been sleeping in. Like all the other tents on the base, the canvas sides of the VIP tent had been rolled up to catch any errant tropical breezes. It was easier to dress and undress in the dark than it was to try rolling them down and back up whenever she wanted privacy. Was it normal to get dressed in an open sided tent on a base full of men who were making bets about who she was going to sleep with? God help her, she was pretty sure the answer was no.

Making her way across her dark tent, she turned back the blanket on her cot and climbed into bed.

 **XXX**

Jim, Don, Casey and Bobby Boyle crouched in the shadows just beyond the VIP tent. They'd watched Kate return from the nurse's quarters – no amount of encouragement had convinced her to use their showers – and she'd just turned out her light.

"Where'd you put it?" Boyle asked.

"It's in her bunk, under the blanket," Jim hissed. "She'll find it any minute now."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Casey said. As usual, he was the group's conscience. He liked Kate, and not just because she was Dee's best friend. He'd heard about the way she'd gone toe-to-toe with Pappy that morning. Twice. As far as he was concerned, that took whatever the female equivalent of balls were. And after seeing her dive into the fight in the Sheep Pen the previous night, he wasn't sure messing with her was a good idea. If Dee told her about the running bets, she be after all their hides.

"She can't take a joke, she don't belong here," Jim said. He was still harboring a slight grievance at the ease with which she'd turned him down the night before. He was not used to women saying no to him with such casual disregard.

Night insects hummed. Somewhere on the flight line, a mechanic cursed, followed by the sound of metal crashing against metal.

Suddenly, a female yell split the night. One side of the VIP tent rocked wildly. Jim looked at the other Black Sheep and grinned.

"She found it." Don stated the obvious.

"Son of a bitch!" Kate's voice rang through the air. "Bloody fucking hell!"

The men crouching in the shadows high-fived each other. Any minute now, she'd come running out of the tent in whatever passed for pajamas, screaming for help. They waited eagerly.

Nothing happened.

A light went on in the tent. It swung in a mad arc, sending shadows dancing. A series of loud thumps resounded in succession, followed by a tent flap being yanked back. The group peered around the crates.

Something furry sailed through the air and landed in the road. It squeaked, then staggered off into the undergrowth.

"What the hell?" Greg had heard the yelling and arrived in a T-shirt and shorts, bare foot, Meatball at his heels.

"Um . . . that would be Kate," Casey said nervously. "I guess a rat got in her bunk by accident."

"A rat. By accident." Greg shook his head. His tone indicated he clearly doubted the degree of accident. "And you were all conveniently waiting to rescue her?" He looked at the VIP tent. "You all right, Cameron?"

"Just fine, sir. No need to call an exterminator." She did not come out.

"Go to bed, you meatheads, party's over," Greg said. The group dispersed, looking disappointed. Not only had the rodent failed to send her fleeing into their collective arms, she'd dispatched it with an efficiency that was just a little frightening.

On a whim, Greg ducked into his own tent and grabbed the fifth of Scotch sitting on his desk. Kate's light was still on. He knocked on her tent frame. Meatball didn't wait, he just pushed the netting aside and trotted in, tail wagging. Greg figured the dog could get by with that. He was pretty sure he couldn't.

"Cameron?"

A resigned voice answered, "Come in."

She was in the middle of the tent, an exasperated look on her face, holding a boot in one hand and scratching Meatball with the other. He'd never seen a man's shirt look so good on a woman. The fabric tugged in interesting directions as she stood up. Her bed looked like someone had attacked it with a baseball bat.

"I hate rats," she said. "I really hate rats."

"I don't think that one will be coming back. Nightcap?" He gestured with the bottle. He looked for a chair, didn't find one, settled for leaning against a case of motor oil.

"Nightcap or apology for your boys?" Those smoky hazel eyes were an open challenge and he wasn't sure he trusted the way she was holding that boot.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart."

"Promise?" She threw his own words from earlier that day back at him. That innocent tone again, with a wicked look. She tossed the boot under her bunk and held out her hand.

He gave her the bottle. She raised it in mock salute before tipping it back. Greg watched as she took a generous swallow and handed it back to him. She caught his gaze traveling the length of her legs.

"I'll find some pants," she said.

"Don't go to any trouble on my account." Hell, she was already mad at him about the flyover and apparently it was guilt by association for the rat. In for a dime, in for a dollar.

She glared at him.

"Turn around."

"No really, don't go to any trouble." He was enjoying her company more than he intended.

She matched his grin with one of her own, humor overcoming irritation.

"Turn around, Boyington."

With an exaggerated sigh, he turned his back. He could hear fabric rustling as it slid over bare skin. That was not an image he needed in his mind.

"Okay, you can turn back."

She'd put on the fatigues she'd had on that morning. They were ripped along one leg from mid-thigh to mid-calf, so it wasn't a total loss from his standpoint. She began gathering up loose sheets of notes that were scattered across the floor, apparent victims of the rat-thumping carnage.

"About your tripod," Greg said, trying to take his mind off her legs. "Anderson thinks he can rig up something until Casey can find you a new one."

She looked at him, surprised.

"Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

He drank and passed the bottle back to her.

"I'll see if I can find a desk for you tomorrow. And get the guys to move some of this stuff out of here."

"Thank you. That would be nice." Polite. Possibly a little suspicious.

She took a final pull at the bottle and replaced the cap. He took it and turned to go.

"Flight line at 0700 tomorrow, Cameron. Try to stay out of the way."

She raised her chin in acknowledgement.

"Major? There's one more thing."

He turned back. Sitting on the mess of her bed in the unflattering light of the tent's bare 60-watt bulb, she looked like a street urchin, hair tumbling wild over her shoulder, pants torn, lip bruised from last night's brawl. She was a complicated mix of attitude with just a little vulnerability. She was a complication he didn't need.

"What?"

"I have a first name. You could use it."

"I know. Good night, Cameron."

Meatball licked her hand and trotted out after him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

" _The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer." Oliver Wendell Holmes_

 **XXX**

The next day, Kate decided it was time to address the issue of a dark room. She had film waiting to be processed and it was driving her crazy. While she enjoyed crafting stories with words, the simple truth remained – capturing images on film was what she did best.

She'd met the squadron at 0700, taking full advantage of Boyington's orders to "Try to stay out of the way." He'd tossed something to her in the mess that morning just as she was sitting down. Catching it single handedly while trying not to spill her coffee, she'd jumped – and spilled the coffee anyway – when the object turned out to be a rat trap.

"Just in case," he said, and flashed a smile.

The night before rushed back in a jumble of irritation and reluctant humor. She felt heat rising in her cheeks as she remembered how he had looked at her before she could find a pair of pants. She didn't have anyone to blame for that but herself. What had she been thinking - oh sure, come in, I'm just standing here in my pajamas, petting your dog and looking for rats. It worked both ways, she thought, although she was unlikely to ever walk into his quarters and find him half dressed. If she did, she doubted it would bother him at all. It seemed normal for the guys to walk around in shorts, or shirtless, on a regular basis once they were back from a mission. She had yet to see any of them in anything that resembled a uniform.

She'd wrenched her mind back to the present. That was not the train of thought she needed to set the tone for her day. Staying one step ahead of the Black Sheep was turning into a full-time occupation.

In any event, Boyington hadn't turned her over to anyone for babysitting and she took advantage of that freedom, taking photos amidst the general chaos of the flight line before treating to a safe distance as the Corsairs roared to life.

They had returned in one piece, more or less.

TJ's bird – now with a mended wing - came back with smoke pouring out of the engine. He managed to set it down before it gave up the ghost completely and had to be pushed off the end of the airstrip. It made for what Kate hoped would be some great photos although no one had seemed very excited and she gathered this was a common occurrence.

French's plane blew a fuel line just as he touched down. He'd lost power and gone careening off the strip, managing to stop just before smacking into a copse of trees. Greg's bird had limped in with dropping oil pressure, while Casey had half of his right wing flaps chewed off by enemy fire, making for another erratic landing. Kate focused on the pilots' faces as they regrouped on the ground and went to de-brief. She hoped her camera had caught the blend of exhaustion and elation that marked the end of a mission where just getting back in one piece qualified as success.

That afternoon, as she was preparing herself to go ask Boyington for help establishing a dark room, the matter resolved itself. True to his word, he sent French and Boyle to deliver a desk and move some of the crates out of her quarters. In the process, French asked about the two large trunks they'd delivered off the plane the night she arrived.

"Those are dark room supplies," she said, shaking her head. "I guess they can stay here for a while. I don't know what else to do with them."

"We have a dark room, didn't Pappy tell you?" Boyle said.

"No, he didn't." He was probably laughing too hard about you guys putting a rat in my bed, she thought. Looking back, it had been funny. Kind of. Better to find a rat in her bed than a Black Sheep.

The dark room turned out to be more like a dark closet, but Kate didn't care. Located in a small anteroom at the back of the Sheep Pen, it had everything she needed. In unspoken apology for the rodent incident, French and Boyle nearly fell over themselves to deliver her supply trunks. In return, she agreed to help process film the squadron shot on any upcoming missions. She'd seen some of the prints that came from that film during the morning's briefing and had refrained from asking how in the world they could get any useful information from the grainy, streaked images.

"You've got enough light leaks in here to read a book by," she said after turning off the darkroom's interior light and sending French outside to shine a flashlight along the door jam. "No wonder your negatives are fogged. And your fixer is so far out of date you might as well be drawing pictures with Crayons."

No one seemed inclined to argue with her. Various Black Sheep helped hang the blackout curtains she'd brought from England and arrange tanks and trays to her liking. She couldn't wait to get started.

It was inevitable that the men insisted on helping her. Just exactly how they intended to help remained to be seen although after her conversation with Dee the night before, she suspected any offers of help were going to be a thinly veiled excuse to spend time alone with her in a small, dark space. What could possibly go wrong with that?

Bobby Anderson, who had been doing the unit's darkroom work, offered to help her process negatives and she took him up on it. She was comfortable with Bobby because she knew he was involved in a relatively steady relationship with one of the nurses at the hospital. She had no idea if that meant he would keep his hands off her or not, but if she had to be alone with one of the Black Sheep in the dark, she'd rather it be one who at least knew developer from stop bath. She had enjoyed TJ's company yesterday but inviting a guy who was a leading contender in a bet on who was going to tumble her into bed to work closely with her in a small room seemed like tempting fate. And Jim? That was just asking for trouble. I may be crazy but I'm not stupid, Kate thought.

Anderson turned out to be excellent help. The afternoon passed with companionable conversation while developing negatives from her exposed film. He backed up TJ's story about how the Black Sheep came into being. Kate was astounded.

"How did Boyington manage to steal an entire squadron?" she asked. She filled a metal cylinder with water to rinse the negatives inside.

"Pappy can find a way to do whatever he sets his mind to. The man's a strategic genius. And once we started racking up more kills than any other unit, Colonel Lard couldn't exactly take us down, could he? Don't get Pappy started on Lard, there's no love lost there. The man won't do anything that isn't printed in the Marine Corps Manual. But you'll have met him, right?"

"Actually, no, I haven't," Kate said. She wiped down a strip of negatives and hung them to dry. "All the arrangements that brought me here were made through the Associated Press. I was supposed to meet Colonel Lard when I got to Espritos but he was in meetings that day and I was only there over night, so it didn't happen."

"So Lard doesn't know you're . . . um . . . you know . . . a woman?"

"No, I suppose he doesn't," Kate said thoughtfully. "Does it matter?"

Anderson very much doubted Lard approved of female correspondents in the first place, let alone dropping one into the middle of the 214th. He was pretty sure _that_ wasn't in the Marine Corps Manual.

"Nah," he said. "I doubt it." What Lard didn't know wouldn't hurt any of them, he thought privately.

 **XXX**

Kate had just started printing photos that evening when someone knocked on the darkroom door. Lost in the familiar routine, she startled. At least they had knocked. She'd hung a very large sign to that effect on the outside of the door but wasn't under any illusions that the Black Sheep spent much time obeying signs. In fact, telling them to do something practically guaranteed they wouldn't do it.

With a pair of tongs, she lifted a developed photo out of the tray of fix and slid it into a water bath. Flipping the red light off, she called, "Come in." She was expecting Anderson, who said he would come back after supper and help her print photos. Unable to control her enthusiasm, she had started without him.

She heard the door open and close but intent on framing the next negative in the enlarger, she didn't turn around. The door clicked shut and the blackout curtain slid closed. She flipped off the overhead bulb and the room was again bathed in red light.

"Hey, darlin'."

Not Anderson. Jim.

"Hey. What happened to Bobby?' She checked the timer on the enlarger. A few more seconds. Done. She unclipped the exposed paper and slid it into the tray of developer.

"His little nurse is off duty tonight and he got a better offer. I told him I'd take one for the team and help you."

"Mmmmm," Kate acknowledged him. She tipped the tray back and forth, watching the image forming on the paper, a night shot of mechanics working on the planes. The exposure was good and she sighed inwardly with relief. Shooting at night was always tricky and that shot was important to her first story. She rinsed the photo and transferred it to the stop bath.

A pair of arms slid around her waist, pulling her close. She stiffened.

"I think I owe you an apology for last night," Jim's voice was close to her ear. "Maybe we should start over."

Kate swallowed hard, careful not to step into the embrace.

"What are you doing?"

"Really, darlin'? If I have to explain, it's been too long," His lips were warm against her neck.

"Take your hands off me," she said, keeping her voice even. He pulled her closer against him and a tangled jolt of adrenaline and arousal shot through her.

"How long's it been since you've been kissed?" Jim spun her to face him, his hands pinning her against the wall, his face inches from hers.

"Let go of me," she whispered. "I am not – "

His mouth closed over hers. For half a second, Kate let the sheer pleasure of physical contact wash over her. It _had_ been a long time. Then her mind clawed back into control.

"No." She turned her face away.

"That didn't feel like no to me." His lips grazed her neck.

She wrenched her arms free and he took a step back.

"No!" She pointed at the door. "Out!"

"You sure love playing hard to get." He started forward but stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. He'd seen feral dogs that looked friendlier.

"I'm not playing and you're not getting anything!"

Jim shrugged. The rejection wasn't completely unexpected and the heat of that stolen kiss had been more than worth the risk.

"You don't know what you're missin'."

"I'll take my chances."

Jim let his gaze travel slowly up and down her body, grinned and left the darkroom. Whistling "A Kiss is Just a Kiss," he liberated a bottle from behind the bar and walked out of the Sheep Pen. The door slapped shut behind him.

Greg and Casey were the room's only occupants, working out the logistics of trading Scotch to the Seabees on Rendova in exchange for a generator that could be traded to an Army engineering corps at Henderson Field for a crate of new carburetors. They'd seen Jim knock on the dark room door and enter just a few minutes before.

Greg wondered what the hell his executive officer had done this time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

" _Anything worth doing is worth doing slowly." Mae West_

 **XXX**

Inside the dark room, Kate braced her hands on the work bench and took a deep breath. The sharp tang of photo chemicals did nothing to clear her spinning head.

Forget the sign, she should have put a lock on the damn door.

Jim had caught her completely off balance in spite of Dee's warning. The next time someone told her not to turn her back on the Black Sheep, she'd take them literally.

She wasn't against kissing a man she'd only known for four days, not that she made a habit of doing it regularly. But she was _not_ looking for a relationship. Not short term. Not long term. Not here. Not now. And for God's sake, not with Jim.

Especially since it hadn't been him on her mind during the first seconds of that searing kiss.

No. Just no.

She enjoyed male companionship as much as the next girl, but it wasn't like she could just walk away from a one night stand on La Cava. One night – or anything beyond it - was unthinkable when she had to work with the whole lot of them every day. Waking up in any of their beds would create a whole lot of awkward.

Hadn't she come here to get away from the whole sticky mess of a relationship that had crumbled like a sand castle in the tide in the first place? In England there had at least been the illusion of privacy with her off-base housing. She sure didn't have that here. Not that it had made any difference in the end. Lies didn't care about privacy.

 **XXX**

In the Sheep Pen, Casey watched Jim leave, then turned to Greg.

"He wasn't in there very long. I'm guessing she flamed him again."

"I'm guessing he deserved it," Greg said.

He was used to watching Jim make passes at any available skirt – hell, it was kind of a hobby for most of them, himself included - and the man had a fairly high success rate. He'd known from the minute Kate stepped out of that plane that his men wouldn't leave her alone and Jim would probably be leading the pack. He figured this was just the beginning. Living with the Black Sheep made Kate available 24/7, whether she liked it or not.

He supposed it was his job to go smooth things over before she took matters into her own hands and killed Gutterman. From what he'd seen of her so far, she seemed entirely capable of it. He also thought it might be safer to fly over Rabaul in a red, white and blue hot air balloon than go in that darkroom right now. He got up and knocked on the door.

"Come in." It was a snarl, not an invitation.

He stepped inside, closing door and curtain behind him. Kate flipped the red light back on with a little more force than was necessary and slid a sheet of undeveloped photo paper onto the base of the enlarger. She turned the timer to expose the negative.

"What the hell do _you_ want?" Greg could feel the anger sparking off her. He didn't have to ask what had happened. It was clear Jim had crossed the line in the sand that separated casual flirting from something more intimate. He raised his palms in a gesture of peace, staying as far away from her as he could in the small room.

"Cameron, try not to injure my pilots. They have a war to fight in the morning."

"Then maybe one of them should think a little more about the war and a little less about me."

He chuckled. On a base where female companionship was a highly prized commodity, it was going to take more than wearing men's clothes to keep the Black Sheep from thinking about her. The simple fact of her existence put her directly in their sights.

"You think it's funny?" She rounded on him, only a few feet away in the semi-darkness.

No, he realized with sudden clarity, he really _didn't_ think it was funny and he would have preferred Jim keep his hands off her, too.

"I'll have a talk with him," he offered. Like that would do any good but he felt obligated to offer a truce flag.

"Don't waste your time." Kate released the exposed paper and slipped it into the tray of developer. "We both know he's not going to listen. Here, make yourself useful. Once this image comes up, rinse it and drop it into the fix." She turned back to the enlarger to pin down another blank sheet.

Greg watched her work, still keeping his distance. She was economy of motion wrapped up in a ball of fury. Jim had sure lit her fuse and the result was not unattractive.

In deference to the room's warmth, she was wearing cut-off fatigues and a T-shirt, knotted at one side of her waist. She'd twisted her hair up into a knot on the back of her head and that graceful stretch of exposed neck was rigid with temper. The red glow of the bulb brought the planes of her face into relief, accenting the sweep of dark lashes and generous curve of her lower lip. He totally understood what had compelled Jim to step across that line but he wouldn't have touched her for all the tea in China right then.

Greg wondered, not for the first time, if she had someone waiting for her somewhere in the middle of this war. The first night she'd been here, she'd said the only family she had was a sister in California. In the following days, she'd thrown herself into the middle of the 214th with enthusiasm but in spite of repeated offers had clearly chosen not to make time with any of the men beyond casual daily interaction.

He turned his attention to the photo floating in the tray. It was a tightly framed shot of himself standing in front of his bird, taken after the morning's mission. She'd caught him turned three-quarters toward the camera, hair sweaty and windblown, Mae West slung over his shoulder, face taut with fatigue and the stress of flying a plane that had barely made it home in one piece. Again.

She looked over her shoulder as he transferred the print into the tray of fix.

"That one turned out well," she said, noncommittally, but he saw a pleased smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and some of the tension had relaxed from her jaw.

He looked at the other prints she had laid out to dry. There was one of TJ, leaping out of the cockpit while mechanics sprayed chemical suppressant on the flames and smoke belching from his engine. French, a look of total irritation on his face as he watched his bird being towed back to the flight line. Meatball running out to greet the men.

The girl had a good eye. And she'd managed not to get run over that morning. He hadn't even been aware she was there.

He picked up a final print. It was of him, TJ and Gutterman walking side by side, away from the camera. It was clear what the focus was. He swallowed a grin, trying not to laugh. Yeah. She had a good eye, all right. And a sense of humor.

She caught him anyway.

"What?" She pulled the print out of his hand, looked at it. "The camera likes what it likes," she said unapologetically. Then, struggling to sound stern, "Don't you dare judge me! If that was a picture of three nurses' backsides you'd think it was great."

Sobering, she looked at him, held his gaze. "I meant what I said yesterday,"she said softly. The anger had drained out of her. "I'm here to do a job, not here to entertain your boys. I like Jim just fine but I'm not on this island so he can carve another notch in his bedpost."

Greg thought that was possibly the understatement of the year. He saw an opening and jumped into it.

"Why are you on this island? Why La Cava?"

Hell, if he couldn't get the information out of her when she was half lit up on whisky maybe he could get somewhere when she was sober. The best defense was a good offense.

"I'd been in England long enough." Her voice was carefully controlled, almost emotionless. "It was time to move on."

"I'd say you succeeded. This is about as far away from England as you can get."

Silence. She fiddled with the box of photo paper, sealing it carefully. The room was warm and he could smell the scent of soap wafting off her skin.

"What was his name?"

"Who?" She turned toward him, emotions crossing her face like shadows in firelight.

"The guy who burned you. Sweetheart, you didn't just leave England, you left the whole northern hemisphere." This was absolutely none of his business and he knew it. He half expected her to blow up like an incendiary but for the first time he wondered if maybe her placement with the 214th really _didn't_ have anything to do with Lard's agenda to discredit the unit.

She rinsed the last of the photos and set them to dry. Switching off the enlarger, she tidied away the negatives, flipped the overhead light back on. Her face was a mix of betrayal and an old, carefully guarded ache.

"Andy." Her voice held no bitterness, just a faint ghost of what had been. "Lieutenant Andrew William Butler of the 359th Fighter Group. Tall, dark and handsome. Witty. Great dancer. American ace. Every girl's dream and I got to be that lucky girl."

Greg arched an eyebrow. She continued.

"I'd just left London after the Blitz and got assigned to Mildenhall. We met at a pub, he bought me a drink, one thing led to another, next thing we're having dinner together a couple of nights a week, going to dances at the officers' club. I had a room in a boarding house near the base and a landlady who looked the other way because we were so in love, it was . . . . convenient . . . for him."

She stopped abruptly.

"He was married. He had a wife and a baby back in Illinois but apparently that wasn't important." Her voice was barely audible, eyes fixed on a distant spot that Greg knew wasn't anywhere in the South Pacific. He could see the fury rising in her again, an almost palpable aura swirling around her.

She met his eyes, defiant. "I am too sober to have this conversation."

Yanking the door open, she marched out of the darkroom. Casey was gone. The Sheep Pen was deserted. She leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle.

"It was months before I found out. One of the men in his unit finally told me. I guess he thought I should know before I made an even bigger fool of myself. I wasn't the first one. Andy liked to share his charms."

She wrenched the top off the bottle, looked for a glass and finding none at hand, drank it straight. She was rather good at that, Greg thought. She was still radiating emotion but he preferred this dry-eyed anger to tears. He never knew what to do with women who dissolved in tears. The logical thing with any other girl would have been to wrap his arms around her and take her mind off it but he was no fool. If he touched her right now he'd wake up in the infirmary.

"He didn't wear a ring. I never saw any photos of her or the baby in his quarters, like the other men had of their sweethearts or wives. I wasn't looking to get married. But damn it!" She set the bottle down. "I wasn't looking to sleep with another woman's husband, either. It bothered me a lot more than it bothered him, I can tell you that.

"I've lived through blackouts and air raids and Hitler's damned Luftwaffe dropping bombs on my head. I've put up with rationing and restrictions and flying all over the world in airplanes that scare me half to death. But I will _not_ be used at anyone's convenience and I will _not_ be lied to.

"So I bailed out. Moved up the coast to Catterick. Never saw him again. When this opportunity came up, I jumped at it. I needed to be somewhere different."

Greg said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Jim isn't married."

Kate stared at him, then burst into laughter.

"When it comes to Gutterman, I think that's the least of my problems!" The color was still high in her cheeks but her eyes had softened. She handed him the bottle and sank into a chair, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.

"Men! You're nothing but trouble!" she said to the ceiling. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

"I'll assume that's a rhetorical question, sweetheart, and I'd be careful who you asked." Greg pulled up a chair and sat down. "Around here, you might not like the answer."

She rubbed her forehead, held out her hand, still laughing.

"Give me the bottle back. You make me drink too much - the whole lot of you."

Greg complied. He thought any girl who was willing to live with the Black Sheep deserved hazardous duty pay.

 **XXX**

Several hours later, when he hadn't seen his CO return to his tent, Casey thought he'd be the responsible party – again - and go check on things. He wasn't sure what Greg had walked into after Jim left the dark room and truth be told, he wasn't sure if he was going to check on Greg or check on Kate. Or maybe he was just sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.

It was late and the base was quiet. He could hear bits of conversation drifting on the night air as he approached the Sheep Pen.

" – dive from 10,000 feet to a dead-stick landing – "

" – didn't you think anyone would notice?"

Low laughter.

"Sometimes you just get lucky."

"I think you get luckier than most."

Pausing on the steps, Casey looked through the door. The room was dark except for one light. Greg and Kate were sitting at the table under it, a bottle between them. They were intent on a conversation punctuated by hand gestures that clearly mimicked a Corsair diving on an enemy fighter.

Kate's hands were extended over the table, left slightly above right. Greg reached over and took her left wrist. Shaking his head, he pulled her hand level and behind his right one, raised his left hand again and repeated the angle. She shifted her hand to mirror his. He nodded.

Aerial combat techniques.

Casey rolled his eyes. He wondered who was the biggest Section 8 on this base – Jim for thinking he was irresistible to all women, Greg for having a girl like Kate alone with him in a dark room and spending the time explaining aerial warfare, or Kate for putting up with all of them the first place.

Quietly, he backed down the steps and left.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

" _In seeking truth, you have to get both sides of a story." Walter Cronkite, American journalist_

"So how are the Black Sheep these days?"

Dee snugged the torn ends of fabric together and drew a needle and thread through a rip in one of Kate's white work shirts. The two were sitting on Dee's bed in the nurse's quarters. Kate had not worked up the courage to use the squadron's outdoor showers yet, even though it would have been more convenient than driving to the hospital every day.

She liked going to visit Dee, though, and had made friends with several of the nurses once they decided she had no intention of stealing their boys. It was also nice to escape, however briefly, from the testosterone poisoning that occasionally threatened to overwhelm her on the base.

"Fine," Kate said, neatly amputating the sleeves of another damaged shirt along the shoulder seams. Outside, rain beat a steady tattoo on the roof and windows.

"In general? Or any one of them in particular?" Dee's teasing smile indicated she knew more than she was letting on.

"Oh stop it!" Kate put down the scissors. "You work at the opposite end of the island, how do you know what goes on at the base?"

"Honey, I can get Larry to tell me everything that happens there. Everything." She smiled broadly at Kate. "Sounds like you're getting to know a couple of them pretty well."

"What has Casey told you?" Kate was a firm believer in getting one's facts straight. She was familiar enough with the transmission of gossip on military bases to know that Jim's stolen kiss in the darkroom may have been magnified into God-knew-what by the time it reached her friend's ears.

Dee didn't answer directly.

"Sounds like their initial bet – the one about you leaving - is off the table. It's been more than a week and you're still there, so they figure you're probably going to stay. Which means the second bet is going strong even though you seem to possess an unnatural resistance to Black Sheep charm. They're disappointed that you spend your nights in your own tent. Alone." Dee was grinning. "But Larry tells me you're getting along well with Major Boyington."

"Define _well_." Kate closed her eyes and let images from the last week wash over her. Boyington trying not to laugh as he picked her up out of the dirt her first night on La Cava. Blue eyes in a face that took her breath away. Dancing with him at her impromptu welcome party. Boyington landing the punch that started the brawl in the Sheep Pen when that Navy jerk grabbed her. Ordering her to stay out of his pilots' way. Sweeping his Corsair above her head while she dove for cover. Tossing her up onto the wing of his plane. Holding out a bottle of Scotch as a peace offering. Boyington looking better than he had a right to in her photos, straightening her wrist in an imitation of a diving Corsair, correcting the angle for firing on a Zero, his fingers warm against her skin.

Oh yeah. She was getting along with him, all right, although it seemed to be on a moment by moment basis. She had no idea how he would react when her first story hit print.

"Is it possible to exist in this bloody war without hooking up with someone?" she mused.

Dee finished a neat row of stitches and snipped off the thread. She checked her handiwork and, satisfied, folded it. Kate tossed her the shirt she'd just cut the sleeves off, the one torn in the Sheep Pen brawl her first night. Dee eyed it critically and measured out another length of thread.

"Probably. But it's awfully nice to have someone to share the bloody war with. "

"Maybe. Until they rip your heart out and stomp on it."

"That doesn't always happen." By tacit agreement, Lieutenant Andrew William Butler was a strictly forbidden subject. "You could have any man on that base and they'd treat you like a queen and you know it," Dee pointed out.

"That isn't why I'm here," Kate said, then grimaced. She was starting to sound like a broken record, even to her own ears.

"Don't give me that song and dance!" Dee pointed her needle at Kate. "Of course you're here to do a job and you'll do it fabulously because you're K.C. Cameron. But who says you can't have some fun along the way. Relax. Would it hurt you to enjoy a little local scenery?"

"You're not living with the local scenery," Kate said, thinking her friend might change her mind if she were surrounded by Black Sheep 24 hours a day.

The men did not share their commanding officer's reserve about the press corps. They teased and flirted and tried to draw her into whatever they were doing, any time of the day or night. It usually worked. She played catch with baseballs and footballs and if they thought she threw like a girl, it didn't seem to bother them. She played passable chess with Anderson, talked newspapers with French. She was good at throwing darts and horrible at playing poker. Boyington had unapologetically taken her for nearly every dime she'd put on the table in a game the night before in spite of good cards falling her way.

"Your face is an open book, sweetheart," he'd said, raking the pile of cash toward him through a cloud of cigar smoke.

In that case, she thought she probably had bigger problems than losing at poker. She'd gathered up the shreds of her dignity and challenged Boyle, the reigning darts champ, to a tournament. She trounced him soundly and won back most of what she'd lost at the poker table, aware of Boyington's eyes on her the whole evening.

"What about making out in the darkroom?" Dee brought her back to the present. "A few kisses never hurt anyone. I told you Jim had a reputation."

"There was no making out!" Kate snorted. "There was one kiss and I put a stop to it. Anyone else you want to warn me about?

"Mmmmmmm. You should have listened to me the first time." Dee studied the mending with a professional eye and shook out the cloth. "And then you spent the rest of the night with the major?"

"Well, yeah, but it wasn't like that!"

"Larry said – "

"Larry Casey needs to keep his nose in his own business. And so do you!" But Kate was laughing. "We just sat in the Sheep Pen and talked. And now I'm probably qualified to fly one of their Corsairs. At least on paper," she amended hastily.

Dee shook her head. Her friend's aversion to air travel hadn't changed in spite of the irony of her career assignments. She put a final stitch in the shirt, tied off the knot and tossed it on the pile of mended garments.

"So how are things going from a work standpoint? You can't be lacking for material."

"You got that right. I'm sending my first packet out via courier this evening." Kate looked pensive.

"But?"

"This unit's had crap for press coverage since the beginning and I'm pretty sure Boyington doesn't expect me to be any different. Everything that's ever been written about the Black Sheep has cast them in a bad light. I feel like they're all just waiting for me to drop the other shoe." Kate got off the bed and started pacing.

"I mean, it's true, every single one of them was some kind of screw up before Boyington got hold of them. I don't know if any of them even own a uniform – I've never seen them wear one. They all drink too much, they spend half their time trying to break into the nurses' quarters after hours and if one of them takes a swing at someone else, they start making bets on who'll win, not trying to break it up. I think most of the stories you've heard are probably true.

"But put them up in the air and look what they do. They're incredible. It's crazy, what it takes to keep those planes flying and the supply line seems to get cut to a trickle at Espritos because this Colonel Lard fellow has an agenda against Boyington." She looked out the window. "There are two sides to every story. And until now, only one's been told."

Kate collected her things. "Thanks for doing my mending, you're a doll. I think I've gone two whole days without ruining anything new. That's gotta be a record."

Dee watched her friend leave and refrained from mentioning that since most of Kate's wardrobe was now in a continual state of disrepair, "ruined" was largely a matter of opinion. Heaven help the girl if she ever needed to dress up for anything. The Dee caught herself. It was the 214th. No one ever dressed up for anything.

 **XXX**

It was mid-afternoon and Greg was working on requisition forms, the sheer monotony of which should have driven everything else out of his head. If Lard approved half the stuff he asked for it would be a miracle. He just hoped it would be the half that kept his birds in the air and the Black Sheep in one piece. Meatball was curled up on his bunk, snoring blissfully. The morning's mission had been scrubbed because of foul weather and the rain still hadn't let up. The steady drip of water both outside and inside his tent would have normally have been relaxing but he had too much on his mind.

Mostly, he had Kate on his mind. She'd been on the base a little over a week, which was about five days longer than any of them thought she'd last when she stepped off that transport. Generally, the better looking a girl was, the higher maintenance she was. Kate, on the other hand, seemed to defy that rule.

She never complained about the lousy food, the dirt, the heat or the rain. Eight days, one bar fight, a rat, six missions, a lot of Scotch, dealing with the Black Sheep 24/7 and she was still here. Not only was she still here, she seemed perfectly happy about it.

And so was he, although he wasn't going to go broadcasting it. They had sat up until nearly dawn, drinking and talking, the night Jim hit on her in the darkroom. They'd talked about the small town in North Dakota where she grew up, flight school, journalism school, the Flying Tigers, the Blitz, General Moore, Colonel Lard, how to beat a Zero in a dogfight and what usually happened to him after he landed without clearance on Espritos. Neither of them had gotten very much sleep but when he walked into the mess the next morning, the private smile on her face when she met his eyes was worth it.

When Lard had assigned her to the 214th, Greg had been prepared not to have any use for her. Of course, that had been when he thought she was a he. When he found out she was a she, he had been prepared not to like her anyway, on the general principle of what she represented.

It wasn't working.

She managed to be in the middle of everything but she was never in the way. She was a quick study and she asked questions. A lot of questions. If she didn't understand something, she kept asking questions until she did.

She didn't mind the odd hours or the rough living conditions or the non-stop male attention. She had an amazing single-minded focus for her job. He found her in surprising places with her camera, always looking for a new angle, a different prospective. Yesterday she'd been atop an engine cowling, handing parts and tools to Hutch, asking questions and scribbling notes at the same time.

After the first morning, he hadn't restricted her access to the Black Sheep. It wouldn't have worked anyway. The pilots didn't leave her alone, no matter how well or how poorly the day's mission had gone. He saw her all over the base chatting with the guys, one at a time or in groups, but it never looked like she was actually interviewing any of them.

She spent a lot of time between missions talking with Hutch. She developed the squadron's film and damned if their recon photos hadn't improved by about 200 percent. He could hear her typewriter ratting at all hours of the day and night.

And she had the most stunningly gorgeous set of legs he'd ever seen. The rest of her matched those legs. That generous smile. Those smoky eyes. The way she lowered her head and looked demurely out from under her lashes while saying something totally wicked.

Jim slouched into the tent and dropped into a chair, interrupting this pleasant, although unproductive, train of thought. Greg tossed his pencil onto the pile of requisition forms and pushed back from his desk.

"She ain't leavin', Greg," his executive officer said. "It's been a week and I've already lost $50 on a bet she'd be gone by now. It don't look like I'm gonna be winning anything in that other bet, either. What's she still doin' here?"

"It can't be your charming personality. I think she's made that pretty clear."

"Crystal." Jim rolled a toothpick back and forth in his teeth. "I don't see her keeping company with anyone else, either."

Greg didn't say anything. If Kate wanted to spend time with any of the Black Sheep on a more personal level, that was her choice. There were very few secrets in the 214th . If she ended up in someone's bed – or in the back seat of a jeep or on the beach or wherever else was convenient - they'd all know about it soon enough, even if the winner of that particular bet kept his mouth shut. Which, knowing the Black Sheep, was not likely.

"Wonder what she's writing about," Jim said idly. "I've seen a bunch of the pictures – they're good – but it's the words that worry me. Don't suppose you get to take a gander at her stories and sign off on them before there's a couple of hundred thousand copies in print?"

"You ever hear of the First Amendment?" Greg asked.

Jim had hit the nail squarely on the head. Yes, he wanted to read whatever she wrote before it left La Cava and got splashed all over the stateside papers. But unless he wanted to force the issue, he wasn't in a position to start making demands, and he thought he knew how well trying to force anything with Kate would go.

"Freedom of the press only goes so far in a war," Jim countered.

"You go right ahead and tell her that." Kate was press corps. He was Marine Corps. There was no expectation that her news coverage would accommodate him in any way. It was the one thing making him keep her at arm's length.

She was under absolutely no obligation to get his approval before filing her stories. The Office of War Information cleared all the correspondents' copy before they were printed in the papers back home but what concerned him was not likely to concern the Office of War Information censors.

It wasn't what you said, it was how you said it. If Colonel Lard had a personal agenda in posting Cameron with the 214th – and he still hadn't made up his mind about that - he was pretty sure it was to discredit the whole unit. He had no doubt she could do that without ever raising a censor's eyebrow if she wanted to.

"Might be you could use your influence to get her to let you read anything she writes." Jim tipped back in his chair to avoid rain dripping through a leak in the tent. It didn't work. The rain just hit him in a different place. Greg shoved a bucket at him.

"What influence? Are you suggesting I pull rank on her? Lord, Jim, she's got as much trouble with authority figures as the rest of you. I tried ordering her around the first day and I can't say she appreciated it. She's not gonna cut me any slack."

Jim shook his head. He hadn't given up his own personal pursuit of Kate but figured his odds of scoring with her decreased with every minute she spent in Boyington's company.

"I dunno about that. I've seen the way she watches you when she thinks no one is looking."

Greg shook his head in negation. "She doesn't want any part of me. I just come with the job. If she was looking for after hours company, she'd pick from younger pastures anyway. Drink?" He lifted a bottle.

"Hit me. In case you haven't noticed, she don't want any part of the rest of us, either. Believe me, I've offered her some very specific parts."

Greg chuckled as he poured out the whisky. He knew Jim well enough to know he wouldn't take Kate's continued rejection too personally. Oddly, he'd never considered himself a contender in the Sheep's latest bet. His initial thoughts about Kate had been overshadowed by how to keep her from driving his squadron to distraction by her presence and now they centered around how to keep her from driving it into ruination in print. But damned if he wasn't spending a lot of time thinking about her in terms that had absolutely nothing to do with either of those.

What was it she'd said to him that first night? _Old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway?_ Yeah. And now his mind was back on _that_.

"Whattaya suppose is holding her back?" Jim thought out loud, sipping slowly. "Most of the unmarried girls over here like a little one-on-one attention."

"She got burned bad by a guy in England. He turned out to be a family man but didn't bother to tell her that. I don't think she's in a hurry to jump into anything, no matter how charmingly available all you meatheads make yourselves." He shoved Meatball out of the way and kicked back, drink in hand.

"You sure know a lot about her," Jim said with a speculative look. "If I was spending as much time with her as you are, I'd be doing a little less talking, if you know what I mean."

"You haven't seen her throw _me_ out of the darkroom, have you?" Greg gave his executive officer his best angelic smile.

"Smart ass," Jim said without heat. "If you ask me – "

"I didn't. You're the last one I'd ask about women."

"Well maybe you should start – you oughta see if she'll let you read whatever she's written. Just ask her. What's the worst she can do?"

What was the worst she could do? Greg knew members of the press were not allowed to carry firearms. Somehow, he did not find that very reassuring.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

" _Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition." Frank Loesser, published as sheet music in 1942_

 **XXX**

Three hours after she got back from visiting Dee, Kate pulled the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter and jogged it neatly with the others on her desk. She scooped up the photos she'd selected, clipped them onto the copy, added the cutlines, and slid the whole works into a large folder. Her first correspondence from this assignment was done, but the sense of finality that usually accompanied the conclusion of a story was missing. Outside, the rain dripped steadily from her tent. She was grateful it was dripping off the roof, not through the roof.

Earlier, TJ had pointed out the VIP tent was the only one on the base that didn't leak. He had then suggested he move in with her, since he was still bunking with Boyle and French and someone was always getting rained on. Kate had returned his charming smile with one of her own, told him not a chance and pushed him out the door.

Now, there was only one thing left to do before dropping the packet into a pouch for the courier on the afternoon transport. She'd spent most of last night and the better part of this morning arguing with herself about it and had finally decided ethics be damned. She was going to let Boyington read the story before she sent it.

Not that he had pressured her about it. On the contrary, he had been perfectly willing to talk to her on the record and answer her endless questions as she gathered information over the last week. Once she actually began putting a final story together, he had kept his distance in regard to her work.

Not that he was keeping his distance in any other respect. He'd helped her with recon film in the darkroom a couple of times and had gotten in the habit of showing up at her tent with a nightcap when she was writing late. The clicking of her typewriter keys pretty much broadcast when she was still awake.

It made her smile to see Meatball's jaunty white form trot into her tent, followed by his owner. Boyington's appearance made her smile, too, even if it totally derailed her train of thought and generally spelled the end of her writing for the night. Half the time he didn't bring glasses and heaven knew she didn't have any in her mess of papers, notebooks and typewriter ribbons. Passing the bottle back and forth between them created an odd sense of intimacy that lingered long after he'd gone.

But when push came to shove, she didn't know what to expect from him in terms of her writing. She was not obligated to let him read anything she wrote and she knew it. If a reporter did their job and the story was an accurate reflection of the information they gathered, it didn't need to be vetted by anyone outside the newsroom.

All of her journalism experience taught her that you never let the source have the final word on a story. She knew everything she wrote would be subject to scrutiny by the Office of War Information and she'd chosen her words deliberately to avoid having her work cut to pieces by zealous censors.

Well, then, there was nothing for it. She wasn't seeking accolades, she thought. All she wanted was confirmation that she'd gotten the facts right and understood everything correctly, especially on this first piece. Well, on _any_ piece, but especially this first one. She'd double and triple checked her notes and talked to Hutch until he was probably sick of her, but if she screwed anything up, Boyington would have another reason to want her gone. As much as this place was a basket full of screwballs, she really didn't want to leave.

Tucking the folder under her poncho, she left her tent and sprinted through the rain.

 **XXX**

Meatball jumped off Greg's bunk and trotted to greet Kate as she stuck her head in the tent.

"Hey, got a minute?" she called.

"Come on in."

Kate tugged the rain poncho off and hung it by the door. She bent to rub the terrier's ears, smiling as the dog thumped his tail ecstatically. Greg was stretched out on his bunk, one arm clasped behind his head, the other holding a glass, feet crossed at the ankles. He lifted the glass in acknowledgement.

"Don't get up on my account," she said dryly.

"Help yourself. Bottle's on the desk."

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Kate glanced at Jim as she splashed whisky into a glass. It was 5 o'clock somewhere.

"I was just leaving." Jim stood and sauntered toward the door.

"Was it something I said?" Kate asked. Her eyes were innocently wide but there was no hiding the teasing in her voice. She wouldn't turn her back on him again but she didn't hold the darkroom incident against him, either. She wasn't one to hold grudges for minor improprieties.

"Yeah, darlin', it was." Jim looked over his shoulder. "I believe the word you used was 'no.' Several times."

By now the whole squadron knew what had happened in the darkroom. Dee told her that according to Casey, Jim was now the top contender in the bet because even though she had refused his attentions, he was the first of the men who had actually tried engaging her in what they loosely called recreational activity. She suspected her refusal wouldn't slow any of them down, just make them sniff in wider circles while they figured out what angle they wanted to take next.

Jim disappeared out the door. Greg waved at the empty chair. He had taken her at her word and hadn't moved. She looked at the chair and the rain dripping into the bucket sitting next to it. She moved the chair and sat down.

"What are you doing in the middle of this war, Cameron?" Greg asked, "Wouldn't you rather be working for a nice peaceful stateside newspaper?"

Kate had asked herself a variation of that same question the first night she took cover in a London tube station while the German bombers rained death overhead. Her version had included several specific suggestions regarding what Hitler could do to himself. She had been terrified but had also felt like she had found her purpose in life –she had the power to tell people what was happening. Her mind hadn't changed since then.

"Can you see me sitting behind a desk writing about skirt lengths and recipes?" She propped her feet up on a wooden crate and sipped her drink. Meatball leaned against her while she scratched his back, an idiotic canine smile on his face.

Greg's eyes wandered over her. Her nose was sunburned and peeling. Her split lip had healed but she'd have a tiny white scar there for the rest of her life. The wind and rain had loosened tendrils of her ponytail to frame her face. She was drinking whisky in the middle of the day on a front area Marine fighter base as if she'd been born to it.

"No," he said. He'd never seen such an unlikely candidate for anything resembling a traditional woman's role.

There was an underlying restlessness about her this afternoon, the same kind of intense energy he saw in pilots before a mission, when their focus narrowed to a single definable goal and nothing else mattered.

"What's on your mind, Cameron?"

She drained her glass and held out a large folder.

"I want you to read this before I send it out. . ." her voice trailed off. "Tell me if anything needs to be corrected." Her eyes locked hard with his as she tossed it onto his stomach. "Please."

Swirling the slicker over her head, she turned and walked back into the rain.

 **XXX**

Greg was prepared to hate the story. To find it inaccurate, slanted, to find Lard and his agenda to discredit the Black Sheep lurking behind every sentence. To find a reason to call Lard and tell him his pet journalist was nothing more than a waste of time with great legs.

But he couldn't. She wrote like she lived - brisk and straight forward. The facts were dead on. The story wasn't even about the Black Sheep, exactly. It centered on Hutch and the other mechanics who kept putting the squadron back together, mission after mission.

She wrote about the insane hours they worked to keep the birds in the air, the chronic shortage of engine oil and replacement parts, about cannibalizing planes in the Corsair boneyard and rebuilding whatever couldn't be replaced. She wrote about the price tag that even successful missions came with and about those that had come near to ending in disaster, not because of the superiority of Japanese pilots but because the American planes were often held together with beer cans and baling wire.

She quoted him from the conversation they'd had on the flight line the first day she was there, the day she noticed the beer can patches. "I've lost more pilots to equipment failure than I have to the Japanese." She wove a delicate balance between exploring the fractured supply line to Vella La Cava and actually blaming it on snarled red tape at Espritos. Red tape that had been tangled by none other than one Colonel Thomas Lard.

The sheaf of accompanying photos showed Hutch watching the squadron take off at dawn, exhausted pride in his eyes. Mechanics working late into the night under lights. Men scrambling to meet a crippled bird as it struggled to land. There was one of Hutch yelling at TJ nose to nose, another of the Black Sheep walking to their planes before a mission, looking grim and determined. The story and photos captured the essence of the 214th.

She was walking the razor's edge with this, Greg thought. When it hit the stateside papers, he had no doubt a story about American pilots defying the odds would rally the war effort, which Lard would love. It would also make the 214th look ultimately patriotic, which would give the colonel heartburn or worse. Providing it made it through the censors, the story was going to raise all kinds of questions in Washington about why the squadron with the best kill record in the Southwest Pacific was struggling to get the supplies it needed to keep flying. And that was going to put Lard squarely on the hot seat.

He gathered up the copy and the photos and went to find Kate.

 **XXX**

She was in the Sheep Pen, playing chess with Anderson and losing. Her concentration kept wavering and Bob was slaughtering her, much to his delight. A handful of the other men were passing the rainy afternoon playing cards or taking inventory of bar stock.

Greg flung the door open and crossed to the table in three strides.

"Cameron!" His voice cut through the fog in Kate's mind. Her heart leaped into her throat as she looked up from the chess board. Reaching the table, Greg pinned her with a blazing look and slapped the folder down in front of her. The chess pieces jumped. She met his eyes, not breathing, one of Anderson's rooks still clenched in her fingers.

He planted his hands on the table. His face was a mix of triumph and what Kate had come to think of over the last week as "that look" – that intense blue gaze with a slight curve of his mouth that left her incapable of rational thought. The atmosphere in the room had gone from sleepy to electric in a heartbeat. She swallowed hard. Anderson cautiously edged out of the way.

Greg jabbed the folder with a forefinger.

"You keep this up," he said, "and I may have to change my mind about the press corps. This is the best thing that's ever been written about the Black Sheep, it's going to give Lard a coronary. You told our side of the story!"

Kate's heart lurched back into rhythm as a dizzying rush of victory surged through her. She closed her eyes and drew what felt like her first real breath since she'd given him the story to read. He finally believed she wasn't there to hang the Black Sheep out to dry. She was vaguely aware of cheering. Someone produced a bottle. Whisky sloshed and Greg pressed a glass into her hand.

"To Cameron," he said, touching his glass to hers. The men joined around, raising glasses and beer bottles.

"To the 214th," Kate echoed, still light headed with relief. What was wrong with her? She'd been emotionally invested in stories before but never like this. Greg met her eyes and the heat of his gaze set her heart racing.

There had been a subtle shift in "that look." Now it held something more open, more inviting than before, as if he was truly seeing her for the first time. She held his eyes, a half-smile on her lips as the room swirled around her. God help her, if he kept looking at her like that she was not going to be responsible for anything that might happen next.


	13. Chapter 13

**Editor's note: I don't own any rights to the 1945 song "It's Been A Long, Long Time" by Harry James and His Orchestra (vocals by Kitty Kallen). But it's a fun little tune that I discovered by complete accident and it's been stuck in my head ever since.** **I moved its release up a few years so I could use it here.  
**

 **"So kiss me once, then kiss me twice and kiss me once again, it's been a long, long time. Haven't felt like this my dear since can't remember when, it's been a long, long time . . ."**

 **But there's no kissing in this chapter. Sorry. Be patient.  
**

 **Chapter 13**

" _If you don't hit a newspaper reader between the eyes with your first sentence, there is no need of writing a second one." Arthur Brisbane, editor, New York Times  
_

 **XXX**

Story ideas fell into Kate's lap like ripe fruit. She kept her mouth shut and her ears open and the Black Sheep talked to her. They told her about the missions, the campaigns, the victories, the losses, the boys who hadn't come back in one piece and the ones who hadn't come back at all.

Her world revolved around a new geography. New Georgia, Munda, San Mintos, the Slot, Pelateau, New Britain, Rabaul, Rendova, Bougainville - places she'd never heard of before two weeks ago - were now common topics of conversation. She sat in on the squadron's briefings and was on the flight line for the start of every mission, no matter the hour, returning the pilots' cheerful greetings and matching their off-color banter. The throbbing roar of the Corsairs' engines sang in her blood as they lifted off. She was waiting when they returned, counting planes with Hutch. She joined the pilots for debriefings and drank to their successes and sometimes to the achievement of just coming back in one piece.

She carried her camera everywhere, shot roll after roll of film and stayed out of the way. More or less. Anderson built a makeshift tripod for her and Casey assured her he had a line on a new one that was even better than the one that had crashed out of the jeep.

She wrote in her tent, under trees, in the mess, in the Sheep Pen and in jeeps parked wherever she happened to be. If she wasn't writing or shooting photos, she was swept into the daily flow of life around the base. Boyington and Casey invited her into the convoluted trail of their black market operation. The amount of supplies and gear that were exchanged via clandestine arrangements was staggering. By tacit agreement, she did not write about it.

She knew who had slept with which nurse in the past and who was sleeping with who now and who was trying to sleep with who. Since it seemed like all the boys spent a great deal of time pursuing the nurses, Kate was feeling guardedly optimistic that they had abandoned their absurd bet about who was going to sleep with her. She didn't write about that, either.

 **XXX**

Colonel Thomas Lard hung his hat on the rack in the corner of his office on Espritos Marcos and sat down at his desk after lunch. It was Tuesday afternoon and he was looking forward to the delivery of the mail because Tuesday's mail always contained a bundle of stateside newspapers. K.C. Cameron had been at the 214th for nearly two weeks. Lard couldn't wait to see what the man made of Boyington's rebels. Lard wished he could have given Cameron a briefing on the Black Sheep before he shipped out for La Cava but his own agenda that day had made it impossible. If the fellow was half as brilliant as everyone said he was, Lard felt confident he would handle them just fine.

Margaret, his secretary, clicked briskly through the door, carrying a thick stack of newsprint.

"I think you'll want to see this, sir," she said, putting the papers on his desk blotter.

Lard looked down. The top paper was the New York Times. A banner headline screamed "U.S. WAR EFFORT IN SOUTH PACIFIC CHOKED BY SUPPLY LINE ISSUES." In slightly smaller type, the sub-head read "AIR CAMPAIGN IN SOLOMONS HAMPERED AS MECHANICS STRUGGLE TO KEEP PLANES IN SAFE REPAIR."

There were pictures. A lot of very good pictures. That fellow, Hatch or Hotch, or whoever that skinny, dark-haired mechanic was at the 214th, working on planes under night lights; one of the planes spewing thick black smoke on landing, even one of Boyington with his men before a mission, every one of them looking like a Marine Corps recruiting poster.

"Hold my calls, Margaret," he said.

"Yes, sir." She closed the door behind her on the way out.

Lard shook the paper open. The Black Sheep were on the front page of the New York Times. They looked good. He read the story. He re-read it. They sounded good. This Cameron fellow had painted them out to be American heroes, not the band of regulation-defying renegades he knew they were. This was not at all what he had in mind.

Seated at her desk a few minutes later, Margaret could hear muffled expletives coming from behind the door. Well, she thought to herself, if the colonel really didn't want someone else's take on what was going on at Vella La Cava, he never should have sent a journalist over there. When it came to the battle between Lard and Boyington, her money was on Boyington.

 **XXX**

"More to the right," Greg said. "And down a little."

"I can't move any further to the right," Kate returned. "I'm about to fall off."

"Stretch."

"I am stretching. Where's your hand?"

"Further down. Almost. Let me - "

"Ooops - sorry!"

A wrench clattered to the ground and Greg swore from his perch on the ladder below as it narrowly missed his head.

Kate was sprawled on her stomach on the starboard wing of his plane. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to help him tighten the brackets for the camera mounted under the wing. The brackets were in an awkward place and it was a two-person job that Hutch usually did by himself. Greg had told Hutch to go spend his time on more serious repairs, that he would fix the brackets, and then he'd sweet talked Kate into helping him. It hadn't taken much talking.

It was taking them twice as long to fix as it would have taken Hutch. Under the circumstances, Greg didn't mind the time commitment. He could think of worse ways to spend an evening. He could think of better ones, too, and they did not include the two of them working on a damned airplane.

A horn sounded as a jeep barreled toward them. It was TJ, looking a little wild-eyed.

"Pappy!" he called, pulling to a stop, "Colonel Lard is on the radio for Kate. Only he's asking to speak with 'Mr.' Cameron."

Kate pulled herself upright and slid off the wing. Greg caught her by the waist and set her down, a gesture that wasn't lost on TJ. In the last few days, TJ had started to see the writing on the wall when it came to Kate. In spite of the time he'd been spending with her, helping her with information for a story, he was pretty sure his name wasn't going to be written on that wall. He was pretty sure Jim's wasn't either but his wingman was going to have to figure that out for himself. Trying to tell Jim anything where women were concerned usually fell on deaf ears.

Kate pushed sweaty hair out of her eyes. "I never met Lard face to face," she said in answer to both men's unspoken question. "He doesn't know I'm a, um, not a mister."

"What do I tell him?" TJ asked. "He _really_ wants to talk to you, Kate. I couldn't tell if he was happy or mad but he sounded a little agitated."

"Lard sounds like that most of the time where we're involved," Greg said. He had seen this coming from the day he read Kate's first story. Lard was going to want to talk to the journalist who was, intentionally or not, holding his feet to the flames.

"Tell him Cameron is interviewing an injured pilot at the hospital and can't be reached. He'll have to call back. And I don't care when he calls back – she's – _he's_ \- still busy." That would buy them some time, although he didn't know how much. Turning to Kate, he said, "The less Lard knows about you, the better."

Kate's first story had managed to be exactly what the colonel would not want to see printed about the Black Sheep but it had been crafted in a way that left him unable to complain too loudly. The 214th looked good, so by extension, he looked good, even though he was directly responsible for most of the supply issues that were the focus of the story in the first place.

Although Greg knew Kate wasn't in cahoots with Lard, the fact she had made the Black Sheep look good was going to put her dead in his sights. If the man got wind that K.C. was Katherine Christine, he would almost certainly do whatever he could to get her out of the 214th. Embedding a female correspondent amidst an all-male unit was _not_ in the Marine Corps Manual. Which made Greg all the more determined to keep her here. That and a few other reasons. But those weren't in the Marine Corps Manual either.

He also knew with several campaigns in the theatre ramping up, Lard was going to have his plate full. Hopefully that would keep him busy enough to put K.C. Cameron out of his mind for a while.

TJ got back in the jeep and drove off. Turning to Kate, Greg jerked his thumb at the plane and the still-loose bracket. She scrambled back onto the wing and flattened herself to reach over the edge again and hold the loose end in place. It worked this time.

"Aren't we all on the same side – you, Lard, me?" she asked. Greg looked up from the ladder. They were nearly eye to eye as she stretched to hold the metal in place.

"In theory. Lard wanted you here because he had some wild idea that having full-time press coverage would make this unit walk the straight and narrow and drive me crazy in the process."

A smile pulled at Kate's lips. The tropical breeze had tugged strands of her hair loose and the low rays of the evening sun brushed her cheeks with color. She would make great nose art, he thought, all legs and curves in those cut-off trousers. The fact she was sweaty and had dirt smudged on her cheek did nothing to diminish her appeal. She gave him a sideways look through her lashes. It was a specialty of hers, he'd noticed, and usually meant she was going to say something that would put him on the spot.

"Is it working?" she asked.

"Is what working?" He jerked his mind back to what he was doing.

"Am I driving you crazy?" The curve of her mouth had blossomed into a full blown smile.

Greg finally got the wrench on the last bolt.

"Every. Single. Day. Cameron," he said through clenched teeth, never taking his eyes off hers.

 **XXX**

Kate stepped into the wooden enclosure and latched the door firmly behind her. At least there was a latch. What in the world was she thinking? This had sounded like a good idea when Boyington suggested it. Now, in reality, taking off her clothes to use an open air shower in the middle of a base full of men seemed like one of the less-wise decisions she'd made.

"You could use our showers, you know," he had said. "It would be easier than driving to the other end of the island tonight. It's late, the guys are probably done with them by now. Go ahead. I'll go later."

It _had_ been late when they finished with his plane and she'd been so hot and dirty and tired she'd agreed without argument. She had shoved her toiletries in a bucket and headed for the facilities. Boyington had sketched her a salute and turned back to his own tent. Kate wasn't sure if she was relieved he hadn't followed her or uneasy that she was on her own.

The shower walls were tall enough for men so they afforded her a comfortable degree of privacy, or as comfortable as she was likely to get. Hanging her bucket on a nail, she stripped out of her sweaty clothes. The evening air was warm on her skin and the low angle of the sun painted the surrounding foliage with dappled twilight. She stepped under the water reservoir and pulled the chain.

The water wasn't cold but it wasn't hot either. She let out a squeak and let go of the chain. Okay. It wasn't that bad. She pulled the chain again, soaked her hair and skin and released it. Grabbing her bar of soap, she lathered. Night insects buzzed and a few birds hooted in the jungle.

Kate had enjoyed camping with her sister and parents when she was younger. This was just like that. Give or take a war. She was already living in a tent, why not shower outdoors? It was a very bucolic feeling, she thought, if you could get beyond the reality of being totally naked with just a few thin boards separating you from the entire rest of the world. She wasn't overly modest but being naked was a condition she thought was best reserved for indoor activity. She shampooed her hair, rinsed and stood for a few decadent minutes letting the water run over her.

She hummed a few bars of the popular Harry James tune that had been running through her head, then gave in and let her voice fill the small area.

" . . . _so much I feel that I should say,_

 _But words can wait until some other day,_

 _Kiss me once, then kiss me twice_

 _And kiss me once again . . ._ ," she sang, pausing for breath.

" _It's been a long, long time_ ," came a pleasant tenor from outside the shower.

Kate shrieked, clamping her arms across her bare breasts. _This was exactly why it was not safe to be naked outside!_

"Your turn, darlin', go ahead with the next line."

"What are you doing here?" she sputtered, fumbling for her towel.

"That's not the next line. I'm waiting to take a shower. Unless you want to share."

"Not a chance, Gutterman. I'm done."

"Are you sure you don't need someone to wash your back?"

"Positive."

"What about your front?"

"Gutterman!"

Hastily, Kate toweled off and pulled on clean clothes. When she stepped out of the shower, Jim was sitting on an upturned ammo crate, a towel tossed over his shoulder. He stood up. She stopped in front of him.

"Let's get a few things straight," she said. "I'm not going to bunk with you. I'm not going to the beach with you at night. I'm not going to sleep with you. I'm not going to kiss you and I'm not going to shower with you. What part of _no_ don't you understand?"

"Do you say that to all the boys or is it just me?" His tone was teasing.

"You're the only one who keeps asking!" she said, laughing and frustrated at the same time.

"You're wrong, you know. You already kissed me."

" _You_ kissed _me_ ," she said defensively. "There's a difference."

"If I remember, you kissed back, just before you went all ice princess on me."

Kate blushed hot with the memory. Yeah, she'd kissed him back, all right, but it hadn't been him she was thinking about.

Jim gave her a shrewd look and Kate had the clear impression he was reading her mind. That was nearly as bad as being naked outside.

"Hope you didn't use all the hot water, darlin'."

"I did. A cold shower would be good for you anyway." She turned and walked way. Behind her, she could hear him singing, " _Haven't felt like this, my dear, since can't remember when, it's been a long, long time . ._ ."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

" _Life is short. Break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that made you smile." Mae West_

In spite of earlier promises, Kate had been at the 214th over two weeks before she saw more of the beach than just a passing glance on her way to visit Dee at the hospital.

Dee had warned her about the beach, though. Going there was not to be taken lightly since the place was subject to different nuances according to the time of day one visited it. During the day, it was a place to escape for solitude or a co-ed playground in both water and on the sand. Visits in the evening were the stuff of romance, walking hand-in-hand as the sun set or cuddling around a driftwood fire.

Visits after dark were when starry-eyed romance often gave way to simple physical need. On a base where privacy of any kind, let alone indoor privacy, was nearly non-existent, Kate found it ironic that many couples turned to a spot under the wide open night sky when they sought seclusion. When she pushed her friend on the subject, Dee had turned bright pink and started talking about something else.

 **XXX**

Casey stopped by her tent after lunch that day. Consumed with writing a story, Kate turned from her typewriter to find him standing awkwardly in the doorway, a small bag in his hands.

"Dee made me promise to give you this," he said, looking up at the tent ceiling as if he were reciting from memory. "And she made me swear to make you swear that you would use it when the time came."

Kate was skeptical and slightly alarmed. She wasn't about to start making promises regarding unknown items where the Black Sheep were involved, especially when they came from a nurse in a hospital. The possibilities were a little too much to fathom.

The look on her face must have scared Casey half to death.

"Um, yeah, see you later," he said hastily, backing out of the tent.

Kate opened the paper bag. Inside was a swirl of turquoise cloth. She tipped it out onto her bunk. It was a bathing suit. That was just what she needed, she thought. And what was she going to do with that? She went back to work.

She had taken TJ up on his offer from her first day on Vella La Cava and was writing a personality profile on him - the pilot who seemed the least likely candidate for the hottest fighter squadron in the Southwest Pacific. She had been working on it all morning and her muse was hot. An hour after Casey left, she heard a jeep pull up outside and someone knocked on her tent frame. She waved a hand in acknowledgement without turning around. Whoever it was would just have to wait a few more paragraphs.

She typed rapidly, letting her thoughts flow out of her fingertips – impressions, observations, quotes, facts. Behind her, footsteps crossed the tent. Probably Casey, she thought, come back to check inventory for whatever black market deal the squadron was currently instigating. Even though the Spam, wine and cookies had been relocated, her tent was still the repository for the whisky. Since this was the squadron's most valuable commodity, she supposed she felt flattered they left it within her reach.

The footsteps stopped directly behind her chair. She knew his touch the minute he put his hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Laundry soap, a faint trace of aftershave and tobacco smoke. That undefinable something that was Greg. She started to turn around but he pressed her firmly back into the chair.

"Cameron, you're wound tighter than an eight-day clock."

His hands began working in slow, deep strokes on her shoulders, easing tight muscles she didn't realize she had. She'd been sitting at her typewriter without a break for way too long. She relaxed into it.

"I'll give you an hour to stop that," she said, eyes still closed.

His hands moved gradually lower, pressure increasing as they worked across her shoulder blades and down her spine. She groaned involuntarily, arching forward over her typewriter. That. Felt. Wonderful.

"C'mon. Hang up your notebook. A bunch of us are going to the beach."

"I should finish – " she started.

"You should take a break," he said. "The next transport won't be here for two days. That story isn't going anywhere."

Outside, the base sounded in unusually high spirits. Another jeep drove past, honking, occupants shouting.

His palms were hot through the fabric of her T-shirt, fingers splayed along her ribs. Damn, that tickled. She squirmed. He moved back toward her shoulders, squeezed her biceps, traced her collarbone, along her ears. Tickling again. She arched her neck, inviting more. She couldn't help it.

"Put on your bathing suit, your friend Dee is going to come through here with some other nurses to pick you up. I'll see you there."

"A bathing suit? I don't own a bathing suit," she said, her mind still drifting randomly on the pleasure of his hands. She'd completely forgotten Dee's gift and the orders that came with it.

Outside a jeep horn blasted and Anderson hollered, "C'mon, Pappy! We got beer to drink!"

"You don't?" he nodded his head toward her bunk. The suit was laying where she'd let it fall earlier. His hands were still on her shoulders, effectively short-circuiting her mind.

"Oh. Yeah." She struggled to produce coherent thoughts. So _that_ was what Casey had been talking about. "Dee sent that this morning."

Outside, the horn blasted again. "Let's go, Greg!" Jim yelled. "Unless you're winning that bet, in that case we'll leave without you."

Kate groaned. Apparently the damn bet was still alive and well. She turned and looked at Greg. His grin was totally inappropriate and she realized she was answering it with one of her own.

"You know about the bet?" he said.

"I'm a reporter, remember? I've got an inside source who tells me everything. "

He gave her shoulders a final squeeze and left.

"Don't make me come back here and drag you away from that typewriter."

Kate sat there, feeling the warmth of the backrub still rippling through her body. She tried to refocus on the story. Not happening. He'd done it again. Walked in and shut down anything resembling a logical thought process. Her muse was gone, vanished into thin air.

This beach trip had Dee written all over it. She had no doubt her friend had taken it upon herself to orchestrate a social life for Kate that didn't revolve around men and airplanes. Who was she to argue? An afternoon that didn't involve flying combat sounded positively enticing.

Kate had perfected the art of changing clothes as fast as possible and after a quick check to make sure no one was lurking around the outside of her tent, shimmied out of her shorts and T-shirt and into the turquoise bathing suit. It fit her well, no doubt borrowed from one of the nurses on her behalf. She pulled her shorts back on, grabbed the T-shirt, a towel and her copy of "Gone With The Wind" and was waiting when Dee and some of her friends arrived a few minutes later.

Laura Halvorson, a blue eyed blonde from some tiny Scandanavian burg in Iowa, and Ellen Morgan, an auburn haired pin-up girl from upstate New York, were in the jeep. They were all in reckless high spirits.

"Oh, that suit looks better on you than it does on me," Laura said, feigning jealousy. "Must be the extra six inches of leg you have."

"I need them to stay ahead of the Black Sheep," Kate said, climbing into the back with Ellen.

"Do tell!" Laura said, and they were off.

 **XXX**

Vella La Cava might be lacking in certain amenities but it had one of the most spectacular beaches Kate had ever seen. Palm trees fringed the slice of white sand that wandered aimlessly along one side of the island. It was as close to paradise as you could get in the middle of a war, Kate thought.

She stripped off shorts and shirt, comfortable with _this_ degree of being semi-naked outdoors. Pulling her book out of her bag, she propped herself up on her elbows on Dee's beach blanket and soaked in the atmosphere. It would be pure bliss to spend a couple of hours reading. She and Sarah had seen "Gone With The Wind" when the movie came out but she was enjoying the book much more, even though she thought Scarlett O'Hara didn't have much good sense when it came to men.

Nearby, some of the Black Sheep were chasing back and forth after a football. Kate allowed herself a few completely self-serving moments of watching them. There was nothing wrong with admiring shirtless men, she told herself. They watched her often enough, she thought they owed her one. Dee had told her to relax and enjoy the local scenery, after all.

There was a great deal of shouting and hooting as another jeep filled with nurses arrived. Kate closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the sunshine. The warmth was like a caress against her skin. She could stay like this forever, she thought. The ocean breeze, the sound of the surf, the shouts of the Black Sheep, girls laughing, no one trying to kill anyone else, no deadlines, no pressure, no man who made her forget what she was doing whenever he got near her.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Kate's eyes flew open, startled.

Greg laughed.

"Did I interrupt anything important?" He sat down on the blanket next to her. He was just as shirtless as the rest of the football players and Kate couldn't help herself. He owed her more than one look, too.

He caught her eyes. Busted.

Deliberately, she did it again, letting her eyes travel down the lean planes of his shoulders and chest, abs, legs and back up. She remembered the long, slow walk his eyes had taken over her the first night she was on the base and didn't rush.

"Are you done?" he asked when she met his gaze again.

"No," she said honestly. She could have sat there and looked at him a lot longer.

A football smacked into the sand next to her leg. Scrambling to her feet, she launched it back. Her throw was a lovely tight spiral, even if it lacked distance. TJ did a diving catch.

"I want Kate on my team!" he called.

"No!" she yelled back. "No teams, no nothing. I'm going to sit here and read my book and –" she looked at Greg, " – stay out of the way." She turned to sit down.

"Not happening, Cameron."

Kate read his intent as he was stepping forward. Even if she hadn't been good at reading body language, the look on his face would have given it away.

"No!" she back peddled in the sand. "Oh no you don't!"

He scooped her off her feet, one arm around her waist and one under her legs.

"No! Put me down, damnit! Now!"

He ignored her.

"There you go again, saying no. Maybe you should say yes once in a while and see what happens."

Kate had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen. He carried her across the sand as if she weighed nothing. She flailed her legs and beat on his chest with her fists but it was useless. The man was solid muscle. When she kept struggling, he tossed her over his shoulder and smacked her backside.

"Put me down! You are so out of line, Boyington!"

Half upside down now, she railed on his back with closed fists. He ignored her. Continued kicking only resulted in iron fingers clamping her ankles together as he splashed out into the surf.

"Are you going to quit fighting?"

"No!" She struggled harder. "Let go of me!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

He tossed her into the water.

Kate broke the surface, sputtering and gasping. The water was warmer than she expected and only waist deep. She stood up, pushing soaking hair from her face, and got her bearings. The Black Sheep were cheering from the shore a few yards away. Greg had his back turned toward her. Taking advantage of his lapse of attention, she launched herself at him, wrapped her arms around his waist and knocked him off balance. They both went under.

"Paybacks are hell," she said when they resurfaced.

"Are you happy now, Cameron?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm, Jim keeps telling me you only say no. You've said yes to me twice in the last minute."

"Maybe it depends on who's asking." She couldn't help herself. He arched an eyebrow.

"Maybe I need to ask more often."

There he went with _that look_ again.

"Katie! Catch!" Someone lobbed the football at her. She caught it out of reflex and looked around. A few yards away, Dee was waving her arms and splashing in front of Casey. Several other nurses had appeared. Clearly it had turned into a male versus female game. Kate tried to throw the ball but Greg wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down into the water with him again. She launched a last second pass toward Dee and the game was on.

Kate couldn't remember the last time she'd had that much fun. There were no rules. It was less a game of football and more a game of keep-away. Sportsmanship was non-existent and the nurses used every advantage they had. Kate was extremely glad Laura had loaned her a one-piece bathing suit because she was sure if it had been one of the newly popular two-piece styles it wouldn't have stayed on through the horseplay.

The Black Sheep didn't hold back. Although they'd never exactly treated her with kid gloves, any reservations they might have had about their conduct around her had clearly disappeared after Greg picked her up and tossed her into the water. French tried carrying her over the boys' goal line after she caught the ball. TJ picked her up and swung her off her feet to break up a pass from Ellen. Greg wrapped his arms around her from behind and physically restrained her while Jim took the ball away. The feel of all that bare muscle pressed against her made Jim's job much easier than she wanted to admit. She'd turned, and hooking a leg behind Greg's, dumped him neatly back into the water.

Finally, the women declared themselves the winners after they orchestrated a series of hail mary passes that ended with the nurses and Kate joining hands to make a line that the men couldn't break through while Dee ran off with the ball.

Boyle and Anderson swam out a little way off the beach and returned with several cases of beer that had been stashed to chill. Casey, ever the Boy Scout, built a fire and the afternoon's momentum slowed.

By the time the beer was gone, the sun was slipping toward the horizon. A number of the girls had evening shifts at the hospital, effectively breaking up the party. Kate rode back to the base with Laura and Ellen, Dee having disappeared. Not surprisingly, so had Casey.

In her tent, Kate dropped "Gone With The Wind" back on the wooden crate that served as a night stand. Privately, she thought if Rhett had tossed Scarlett into a pond much earlier in their acquaintance, the story might have gone very differently.


	15. Chapter 15

**Editor's note: I am not sure if part of this chapter is even physically possible but it was fun to write, so humor me.**

 **XXX**

" _If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun." Katharine Hepburn_

 **Chapter 15**

When he'd first heard about the Black Sheep's running bet on who Kate would end up sleeping with, Greg brushed it off as typical squadron high jinx. It was exactly the sort of thing the boys would come up with for amusement when a girl who looked like that moved right into the middle of their base.

Was it inappropriate? Oh hell yes, but most of the stuff they did was inappropriate so he let it go. At that point, he didn't think she was going to be there long enough for it to make any difference.

But then she didn't leave. Not only didn't she leave, she had gone from being a potential liability to being an asset to the squadron. Her stories had generated positive results in Washington and for the first time in months, the stranglehold on supplies between Espritos and La Cava had loosened. Lard was under pressure.

Thanks to her, their birds were better maintained now than they had been since the squadron had formed and Hutch was ecstatic. Jim and TJ ended up with a brand new tent and the rest of them got enough replacement canvas that they weren't getting rained on any more. Toilet paper was no longer being rationed. She was good for morale.

That was the simple version of her existence there.

The complicated version was something else entirely.

He wasn't a choir boy. He'd made time with nurses on the beach at La Cava or in more private settings on Espritos, although not since she'd arrived. Those had been nothing more than temporary distractions and he usually woke up alone anyway. That wasn't going to work with Kate. She wasn't one night stand material.

The problem with spending time with her was that it drew the attention of everyone else who _wasn't_ spending time with her. If anything happened between the two of them, the whole base would know about it in short order. He could imagine the degree of uproar _that_ would cause and decided he didn't really care. In the meantime, she was like an exquisitely fine single malt whisky, something to be savored without being rushed.

Watching her weave herself into the daily pattern of life at the 214th was an endless source of pleasure for him. He didn't see anything wrong with making sure sure he was part of that daily pattern as much as possible. Building whatever passed for a normal relationship with her under these circumstances was enough of a challenge, he wasn't going to push anything else. Well. Maybe a little bit.

 **XXX**

It was early evening and Kate had just gotten back to the base after showering at the nurse's quarters. She occasionally – cautiously - used the Black Sheep's facilities now. She had even gotten comfortable enough to find herself carrying on conversations with the men while she waited her turn or while they waited for her to finish. It was an odd blend of trust and humor because she never knew who might be on either side of the shower door.

But tonight she'd needed an escape from the all-male atmosphere. Dee had been eager to relive the beach party of the previous day. After dancing around the topic for a while, she had bluntly asked Kate what she'd done that evening after the group had returned to the base.

"I took a shower," Kate said, then seeing her friend's questioning look, added, "By myself. And then I went to bed."

Dee looked at her in anticipation.

"By myself!"

"Mmmmmm," Dee said, tucking dark hair behind her ear. "As much as Greg had his hands all over you, I thought there might have been some follow through last night."

Yeah. He'd had his hands all over her. She could still feel every glowing fingerprint.

"Follow through? Is that what you're calling it now?" Kate said drily. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you had money on that stupid bet. And by the way – what did _you_ do last night? I didn't notice you and the charming Lieutenant Casey going back to the base with the rest of us."

Dee turned pink again. Kate didn't push it. It was clear Dee had _not_ gone to bed by herself, although Kate wondered how – and where - they made that work.

"Listen, I can't just _follow through_ and walk away in the morning," She said. "Yeah, the beach was fun. It was a _lot_ of fun. But I'm not looking for a quick roll in the hay. I work with Greg." She ran her hands through her hair. "It's one thing to go play on the beach, but then we all get up the next morning and there's still a war going on and we're working in each other's back pockets. Besides, there are no secrets on that base, Dee, trust me. None. There's 20 men in that squadron plus mechanics and support personnel and other pilots who come through here at random. I'd rather not be the main topic of conversation at breakfast the morning after."

Dee thought it was a little late to be concerned about that. If what Larry told her was true, Kate was already the main topic of conversation at more than breakfast and it was no longer a matter of _who_ she was going to sleep with but _when_. She didn't think her friend was totally oblivious when it came to recognizing male attention but she knew Kate wouldn't give herself easily into a relationship, no matter how strong the mutual attraction might be.

"The way he looks at you, he wants more than a quick roll in the hay," Dee said.

Kate changed the subject.

 **XXX**

Kate hadn't told Dee about the nightcaps, which were now routine. Sometimes Greg came to her tent, sometimes she went to his. It was always perfectly above board, she told herself. If one of the guys stopped by, which they did with regularity, there was nothing to hint at anything going on. Because there wasn't anything going on. Just two people and a bull terrier sharing a drink or two or three at the end of the day.

Now, she tugged off her socks and boots and collapsed on her bunk. She desperately needed to write to Sarah. Her sister was a much better correspondent then she was, proving once again that people in the communications field are often the worst communicators.

Kate knew much more about Sarah's role in building bombers in southern California than Sarah knew about what Kate was doing in the Solomons. Reflecting on the previous day's activities and the topic of her conversation with Dee, Kate thought that might be for the best. Sarah was her little sister by two years, and she felt some degree of responsibility for being a good role model. Which was a lot easier said than done.

Of course, all Sarah had to do was pick up a copy of any daily metro newspaper and find Kate's stories, so she felt slightly better about that. Sarah might not know everything that was going on in her sister's personal life but her professional life tended to be splashed across the front page on a regular basis.

Picking up paper and pencil, she began.

 _Dearest Sarah, I apologize again for not writing more often. This new unit has taken some getting used to and it is not without its distractions (more on that later). It seems no matter how often I sit down to write, I get inter-_

Greg knocked on her tent frame and walked in. He was earlier than usual for a nightcap – the sun wasn't even down - and he wasn't carrying a bottle.

"You know," Kate said, "it's customary to wait for permission after you knock, in case the person doesn't want to see you."

"You won't tell me no, Cameron," he said. His grin was open to interpretation.

Probably not, she thought, but he didn't need to act so damned sure.

"That depends on what you're going to ask," she said tartly.

"Put your boots on and let's go."

"Where? What's going on?"

"You ask too many questions. Didn't anyone ever teach you to just obey orders?"

Kate looked at him suspiciously. His smile was open and unguarded.

"No, they didn't," she said. "It's my job to ask questions."

She rummaged for the socks she'd just taken off, tied up her boots and followed him.

"Get in." He motioned to the jeep parked in front of her tent.

"What - ?"

He held up a hand.

"Will you stop with the questions? Get in."

Within minutes they pulled up on the flight line. Hutch greeted them.

"Your bird's ready to go, Pappy, better than ever. Have a good flight." He winked at Kate.

Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. No. Absolutely hell no. For all that the Corsairs were large, they were a lot smaller than a C-47 and that was about the smallest aircraft she could tolerate.

"Thanks, Hutch. Get out of the jeep, Cameron."

She was frozen in place.

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say it on the ground," she sputtered. "There's no reason - "

Greg took her wrist and pulled her out.

"This isn't about talking."

"No!" Kate was frantic. "Hutch! Help me!"

"Have fun, kids!" the mechanic waved without turning around. "Don't stay out too late!"

"I am not getting in that plane with you," she said, still trying to pull away. He didn't release his grip. She fought anyway, just to make her point. It didn't work any better than the day she'd fought against being carried into the water.

"What do you have against flying?"

"It's a flaw in my otherwise sparkling personality," she said, desperately trying to scramble backward.

"If that's the only one, I can deal with it."

"There's not enough room for both of us in there."

Greg put a hand on each of her shoulders.

"Sweetheart, neither one of us is that tall. We'll fit."

Reaching behind her into the jeep, he pulled out a mae west and tossed it over her head.

"Do you want me to fasten the straps or do you want to?"

"You're crazy, you know that? Totally batcrap crazy."

"I'll take that as a yes." He slapped her thigh and when she moved away indignantly, he stepped behind her and reached between her knees to grab the webbing. With a practiced move, he hooked it, then snagged his own life vest from the jeep.

"Up." He jerked a thumb toward the wing and cupped his hands.

"No. I'll get in your way." She was trembling now and she didn't know if it was from fear or something else.

Greg sighed.

"Getting in my way hasn't bothered you for the last month, why the sudden attack of conscience?"

Kate's mind was spinning. She was backed up hard against the wing and there was no room to move.

"I'll get in that plane on one condition."

"Are you negotiating terms of surrender?" He laughed.

"I'm not negotiating anything."

"What do you want?"

"Use my first name."

It was a simple thing but it was driving her crazy. No one here ever called her K.C. The other pilots usually called her Kate or Katie. Anderson insisted on calling her Katherine. Jim called her darlin' almost exclusively. But Greg only called her Cameron. Or sweetheart, which wasn't too bad, although he was usually being sarcastic when he said it. She wanted to hear him use her given name. She could think of several specific ways she wanted to hear him use her given name but she'd settle for good old everyday usage to start.

He didn't answer. Instead he tipped her chin up with one hand. His eyes were that intense blue that sent her stomach tumbling.

"Do you trust me not to kill us both?"

She drew a shaky breath.

"Yes." It came out as a whisper. She trusted him. All he had to do was look at her like that and she'd do whatever he asked. And he knew it.

"Then up." He cupped his hands and lowered them. She stepped into them, he tossed her onto the wing and scrambled up after her. When he was in the cockpit, she hesitated. He tapped the side of the plane.

"Let's go, Cameron. I'm not getting any younger."

Glaring, she swung in after him. His hands closed around her waist, guiding her down onto his lap. He was right. They both fit but it was snug. After a few awkward moments to get her feet and legs out of his way, Kate was settled comfortably, or as comfortably as she was likely to get. Her heart was pounding and her throat was dry.

Greg flipped the ignition switch. The engine coughed and died.

"Would it help if I got out and pushed?"

"Smart ass." He slapped her leg, then wrapped his left arm around her waist. He flipped the switch again and the powerful motor roared to life. Sliding the canopy shut, he swung the plane out and lined up with the airstrip.

Kate closed her eyes.

 **XXX**

In the Sheep Pen, the men paused in their poker game as a plane roared overhead.

"Who's that?" Anderson asked. It was unusual, although not rare, for anyone to go up this late in the day.

"Greg," Jim said. "He had Hutch do some fine tuning on his bird. Guess he's taking it up for a test run."

Anderson looked around.

"Where's Katherine?" She frequently hung out in the Sheep Pen in the early evening, swapping drinks and playing darts with the men, working an angle for her next story or just being one of the guys.

Jim cleared his throat. He looked resigned.

"She's with Greg."

"But you said he – "

"I did. He did. She is."

"He took her up in his plane?" TJ was incredulous. "He hates it when we do that with the nurses."

TJ folded his hand. "Hey Boyle, I'm changing my bet. Put my money on Pappy." He shot an apologetic look at Jim. "Sorry."

Jim grumbled and checked his poker hand.

"I'll take two. Looks like this is the only way I'm gonna get lucky in this outfit."

 **XXX**

Kate's stomach plummeted as the Corsair overcame gravity and the world dropped out from under them. The sensation of parting from solid ground left her breathless. Her heart was thudding against her ribs so hard it was almost painful.

"Kate." Greg's voice sounded in her ear. "Open your eyes."

Her heart skipped a beat, both at hearing her name from his lips and at the spectacular view spread around them. The sky was cloudless as the sun started to sink over the horizon. Everything was tinged orange and pink, rimmed with azure. At this altitude, even the air seemed gilded. Below them, La Cava was a dark green smudge against dark blue water. Kate swallowed hard. Looking down was not a good idea.

"You all right?"

"I'll live."

He chuckled. She would have slapped him if there had been room to turn around.

"Don't you dare laugh at me. I have never liked flying and the smaller the plane, the worse it is."

"What part don't you like?" he asked, dropping the right wing and pulling her close as she tipped toward him, his arm firm around her waist.

"The taking off part. The turning part. The – eeep - !"

He banked left, pulling her even closer as she started to slide away.

"Stop that! What's wrong with just flying level?"

"Level is boring." He put the plane into a climb. It responded with an immediate surge of power, pushing her back hard against him. Her hands were clenched on his left arm and she was entirely too conscious of his breath, warm against the back of her neck.

"Boyington, when we get back on the ground I'm going to kill you."

He alternated between banking left and right.

"So you want me to call you by your first name but you won't call me by mine? It works both ways, sweetheart." He leveled off. "Are you even breathing?"

"Barely."

"Oh, Katie, you are something else." He was laughing openly now, not even trying to hide it.

Her stomach did a slow roll that had nothing to do with the plane. Just hearing him say her name set off all sorts of alarm bells. Be careful what you ask for, she thought.

"You aren't going to be sick, are you?"

"No. I'm fine. But I mean it - I am going to kill you. How did I let you talk me into this?"

"Don't close your eyes again. It's a beautiful sunset. Have the decency to admire it."

"I could admire it just as easily from the beach."

"I'll remember that."

She was trembling, fine tremors running just below her skin. She wasn't sure when the adrenaline rush of flying had turned into the ignition of a slow burn that had nothing to do with being in an airplane and everything to do with being in an airplane with him.

He dropped the Corsair into a gentle dive and Kate gasped with the sudden jolt of weightlessness.

"Have you had enough?"

That was a loaded question, she thought. This was his world and he'd invited her into it. The least she could do was try to appreciate it.

"No." She gritted her teeth.

"Good." He leveled out, then put the plane through a series of maneuvers that left her both dizzy and exhilarated. She relaxed enough to stop going rigid every time they changed directions. She caught the rhythm of the plane's motion, along with his feet and hands, and adjusted her balance to accommodate his movements.

It was nearly dark when they got back to La Cava. Kate kept her eyes open for the landing although she was pretty sure she'd stopped breathing again. Greg spun the plane back into the flight line where TJ was waiting in a jeep.

"Looks like you're going to have to kill me later," he said, pushing the canopy back.

"General Moore is on the horn for you," TJ said to Greg, carefully avoiding Kate's eyes after they'd climbed down. "I told him you were out on a . . . ahh . . . test flight. He said he'd wait."

 **XXX**

In the op shack, Greg picked up the receiver.

"Yes, General, what can I do for you?"

"Boyington, I've been in Washington for the last two weeks. I get back here and find Colonel Lard coming unglued about this Cameron fellow he's posted with you. Personally, I've read his stuff and I don't think there's a problem but you know Lard. Since he's up to his eyeballs in Congressmen now, I told him I'd come over there and meet Cameron and see what the fellow is all about. It won't be for a while, heaven knows I've got enough to keep busy with here. But you might want to give they guy a heads up about Lard. I know how these correspondents get when they think you're trying to push them around."

"Yes, sir, so do I." Greg held Kate's eyes.

"Make sure you tell him he's doing a fine job, no matter what's crawled up Lard's butt and died. The 214th looks good and that kind of press is well received in the states."

"I'll be happy to. Cameron is fitting in just fine here, gets along well with my men. It's been interesting. We'll look forward to your visit, sir."

He broke the connection. TJ let out a sigh.

"I need a drink," was all Kate said.


	16. Chapter 16

" _A man's kiss is his signature." Mae West_

 **Chapter 16**

Don French got his fifth kill to make ace during a routine bomber escort over Bouganville. As soon as the squadron was back in radio contact with La Cava, Greg called with the news and Kate was waiting for the Black Sheep on the air strip with her camera. There was a great deal of whooping and hollering and back-thumping when all the men got on the ground and the raucous high spirits carried the group to the Sheep Pen for continued celebrating.

It couldn't have happened at a better time. While morale wasn't exactly lagging, the squadron had been flying a brutal schedule of missions that was leaving them all worn thin. Don's fifth kill and the promise of an official celebration party was a welcome respite for men battling burnout.

On that same mission, Boyle's bird had blown an oil line and he bailed while he still had altitude. Air/sea rescue confirmed they'd fished him out of the drink but it would be 24 hours before he could get back to the 214th so they postponed French's celebration party until the following night.

"That just gives us more time to convince the nurses this will be the social event of the year," TJ said. Having attended every single one of the Black Sheep's social events since her arrival, Kate wondered how they were going to top some of their recent bashes.

Don's father, a New Jersey newspaper publisher, cabled to say he was sending a photographer and reporter to get his son's story. Don replied and told him to save his time and money, K.C. Cameron would handle it. Duly impressed, the senior French agreed, thinking the only thing as notable as having a fighter ace in his family was having the story about him written by a popular Associated Press war correspondent.

 **XXX**

Kate was exhausted. Now matter how hard she tried to catch up on sleep, she was constantly yawning.

She'd been up before dawn the last four mornings to watch the squadron off. She didn't really have to do this but the boys had started thinking of her as their good luck charm. Since she'd been at the 214th, they hadn't lost a pilot. There had been some near misses and like Boyle, a few of them had needed shark repellant, but they'd all come back in one piece. She was more than happy to do her part to support this superstition, even if it meant losing sleep. She usually crashed for a few hours in the heat of the afternoons before diving back into her work. Like many of the Black Sheep, she was getting good at sleeping anywhere, any time, if the opportunity presented itself.

She'd been pounding out a remarkable number of stories. Since Lard was under the impression she was interviewing injured pilots whenever he called, she had decided it might be in her best interest to actually produce a story on the topic. That had turned into a series that included base personnel who were in the hospital for a variety of reasons. She'd finished her profile on TJ and was working her way through a feature on the mechanics, expanding on the topic she'd started in her very first story. Now she had French's story to write.

Between watching the squadron leave and return, doing interviews, organizing story notes, shooting photos, processing her own film and the Black Sheep's recon film and actually writing, the hours flew past in a blur. A wild night of drinking and dancing – and she had no doubt it would be wild - was probably the last thing she needed tonight but there was no way she was going to miss this party.

The box was waiting on her bunk when she came back from evening mess. The flat cardboard package was tied with string, with the word "Cameron" scrawled across one corner. Underneath was a muddy paw print.

Baffled, Kate lifted the lid and brushed aside a layer of tissue paper to reveal a black cocktail dress. A handwritten note nestled against the fabric read, "For tonight. I owe you. Meatball."

Breathless, she lifted the dress out of the box. The fabric shimmered in the early evening light. It was simply cut, with cap sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, fitted bodice and flared skirt. She swallowed hard. It had been a long time since she'd worn anything like this. The day's fatigue vanished.

 **XXX**

"I need to borrow a pair of shoes." Kate announced. She was wearing Dee's bath robe and toweling her hair dry. The box with the dress lay on her friend's bed.

"You need to borrow more than shoes," Dee observed, looking at the faded trousers and frayed shirt Kate had folded neatly atop the dress box. "What do you have in there – brand new fatigues? Maybe you need new work boots to dress them up?"

Kate opened the box. "I need shoes to go with this."

Dee's eyes went wide when she saw the dress. She lifted it out and held it at arm's length. "This is stunning! Where in the world did you get it?"

"Greg sent it." Kate couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Technically, Meatball sent it. I think it's payment for ruining my clothes the first night I was here."

"Major Boyington sent you _this_?" Dee looked at Kate appraisingly. "You need more than shoes. What about your hair? Foundations? Do you even own any cosmetics?"

Kate waved her away.

"I don't need all that, just shoes."

Dee huffed in exasperation. "Of course you need all that. You can't wear a dress like this without all that. Has it really been that long since you've been to a party?"

Kate shot her a look.

"I live with the Black Sheep, every night is a party."

"It's time the Black Sheep see you in something besides fatigues and boots."

"Most of them would be happy to see me out of fatigues and boots," Kate muttered.

"Where did he get something like this?" Dee breathed.

"The man stole an entire squadron when he formed the Black Sheep. He runs a thriving black market in Scotch and airplane parts," Kate said. "I guess finding a cocktail dress shouldn't be too hard."

"No," Dee mused. "Are you sure there's not more going on than you're telling me?"

Now it was Kate's turn to be exasperated.

"We spend a lot of time together. I mean, I'm with the squadron 24/7."

They did spend a lot of time together. In the Sheep Pen. In the dark room. On the flight line. Endless consults about stories she was writing. Endless questions. Night caps in her tent. The afternoon at the beach. The terrifying intimacy of that plane ride.

"The squadron did not send you that dress," Dee said pointedly. "The major did. He had his hands all over you at the beach and you weren't exactly telling him to stop. And Casey told me he took you up in his plane a few days ago. So don't tell me there's nothing going on."

"There's nothing going on," Kate said deliberately, just to see her friend's expression.

"Katherine Christine, I hope you don't play poker with that face," Dee said. "Of course there's something going on. And if you show up at that party in this dress, I'm guessing it's going to happen sooner than later."

Kate fixed her with a cool stare.

"Just find me a decent pair of shoes I can borrow. And stop worrying about where I'm sleeping." She smothered a yawn. "Lately, it just plain hasn't been enough. If anything happens, you'll be the first to know." Then she burst out laughing. "Well, no you won't – that whole damn base will be the first to know. You'll be, I don't know, the 30th to know."

"Seriously, Kate, it is possible to do things in private around here," Dee said.

"I believe you. It's not the privacy for _doing_ that concerns me," Kate said. "It's the privacy for _afterward._ You're not having breakfast across the table from 20 of Casey's closest buddies the next morning after you go wherever you go."

"The beach," Dee said quietly. "We usually go to the beach. Sometimes we come here."

"Here? Seriously?" Kate knew the Black Sheep spent a tremendous amount of time trying to get into the nurses' quarters after hours. She didn't realize they actually succeeded. Well, she supposed _that_ had been naive of her.

"Yes. Seriously." Dee held up a finger. "Now don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

"I can't go anywhere – I don't have any shoes!" Kate yelled after her.

Dee was back within minutes. Laura and Ellen, already dressed for the party in colorful civilian dresses, were with her, carrying several pair of high heeled shoes, some lacy undergarments and a variety of hair styling implements.

Waving a hand at Kate, Dee announced, "Girls, we have to make the rest of her match that dress."

Kate was not against dressing fashionably, she'd just gotten out of the habit of it. It wasn't exactly high on her priority list these days. All three of the other girls insisted she start from the bottom up and wouldn't give her any peace until they'd decided on lacy underthings that complemented the lines of the dress. Then she dropped the silky black fabric over her head, tugged it down and Dee zipped her up.

The dress hugged her curves like it had been made for her. She slipped on a pair of heels and spun in place, sending the skirt flaring.

Dee nodded in approval.

"Perfect. Now, sit."

"Is all this really necessary?" she protested as she was plunked into a chair in front of Dee's dressing table.

"Necessary? Seriously, Katie – when was the last time you dressed for anything? Did your hair? Put on your face? You spend your days chasing around after pilots and planes and all you think about is your next story. Now sit still."

Kate gave up. She'd been at the 214th more than a month and couldn't remember the last time her toilette had gone beyond showering and washing her hair. As long as her clothes were clean and relatively in one piece, she didn't give what she was wearing a second thought. It was funny, how easily she'd let go of old habits. In England, she wouldn't have dreamed of leaving her flat without putting on her face and fixing her hair first. Half the time these days, she was still lacing her boots or buttoning her shirt when she grabbed her camera and bolted out of her tent.

She sat still as Laura combed and curled and twisted and sprayed. Twenty minutes later, her sun-streaked hair was caught into an up-do with a few errant curls trailing down her neck. A little mascara, a hint of blusher, a touch of lipstick and Dee looked her over.

"You'll do,"she said with a critical eye. Softening, she took Kate's hands. "You look lovely. Don't do anything tonight that I wouldn't do."

"That leaves it wide open then, doesn't it?" Kate grinned. She _was_ having breakfast with Casey and 20 of his closest buddies on mornings after he and Dee snuck away. Although they usually changed the subject as soon as she sat down, the Black Sheep tended to kiss and tell.

Dee turned pink.

 **XXX**

"Nurses are here!" TJ yelled, looking out the window of the Sheep Pen as several jeeps pulled up, female personnel piling out. "Hey, looks like there's a new girl with them. Will you look at that set of - "

Greg leaned to look out the window.

"That's not a new girl," he said. "That's Cameron."

TJ did a doubletake and hastily got himself out of Greg's range. He wasn't sure what was going on between his CO and Kate now but he had a pretty good idea that comments on certain parts of her body, no matter how appreciative, might not be well received.

Outside, the girls were straightening dresses and making last minute touch-ups. Greg watched as Kate smoothed her hands down her skirt, laughing with the nurses at some unheard joke. She'd done something fancy with her hair that left the elegant lines of her neck bare, and the overall effect of her in something besides trousers and a work shirt was staggering. That black number played her slim build to an advantage, accentuating the swell of her breasts and long expanse of leg as she slid out of the jeep. His contact on Espritos had come through. That dress had been worth every bit of the hassle it had taken to get it here. He owed the man a huge favor.

Jim followed his line of sight. He drained his whisky and set the glass down with finality.

"Greg, as your executive office, I believe it is my duty to intervene in any situation which might put you in danger," he said with drawling mock formality. "I believe this is such a situation. A man of your advanced years could not possibly satisfy the needs of a girl who looks like that."

"I appreciate your concern for my well-being," Greg said amiably, "but you're not going to reach _your_ advanced years if you don't keep your hands off her tonight." Jim held his palms up and stepped back. He'd already decided Kate was above his pay grade. It looked like there were plenty of other nurses available for the evening's entertainment anyway.

 **XXX**

The clatter of high heels on the steps announced the girls' arrival and they entered the Sheep Pen to a wave of appreciative hoots and whistles. Kate found herself swept along with the tide as couples began to pair off for drinks or the dance floor. She had turned toward the table where Dee was waving for her to join her and Casey when a warm hand cradled her elbow. Electricity shot through her system as she turned.

"You look wonderful," Greg said. His voice was for her ears only among the laughing, jostling crowd. His eyes traced a line of blue flame up and down her figure.

The flush of heat that surged through her had nothing to do with the warmth of the evening. He was in uniform. All the boys were in uniform, which was dazzling, but the sight of him in something besides a flight suit or fatigues as faded and worn as her own left her slightly breathless. She was used to seeing him windblown and sweaty. The reality of him in a clean, pressed uniform was nothing less than mind blowing. He took her hand and led her into the crush of couples on the dance floor.

"You gave TJ a heart condition when you got out of the jeep," he said.

"Poor TJ. I expect he'll recover. What about you?" She slid into his arms.

"My heart has never been better."

"This dress is beautiful. Thank you. Really, you didn't have to."

"It was my pleasure." His open admiration was like a physical touch. "You can spend all night thanking me."

She felt the color rising in her cheeks but couldn't help smiling anyway.

"Do you really think I'm that easy?"

"Cameron, there's nothing easy about you."

"How did you know my size?"

The look he gave her was so molten, Kate thought she might go up in flames right there on the dance floor.

"Give me some credit. I've spent the last month thinking about your size."

It was too much. She threw back her head and laughed at the sheer pleasure of his honesty. Elation rose through her like bubbles in champagne. It had been a very long time since she'd worn a dress that set off every asset she possessed. Better yet, a dress that had been given to her by a man who openly admired those assets.

It was a rip-roaring celebration. French was the man of the hour and toasts to him were abundant. Kate found her glass being filled and refilled. The jukebox kept the dance floor packed. She danced with all the Black Sheep, although Greg cut in so many times the other men eventually started to automatically spin her off to him after the first minute.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked when he handed her another tumbler of whisky.

"Sweetheart, I quit trying that a long time ago. It obviously doesn't work."

They danced to Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, Duke Ellington and more. She felt like she was floating in his arms, her hand light on his, his fingers warm against her waist. Finally, begging for a break, Kate sat down with Laura and Ellen. Greg excused himself. Dee and Casey were swaying against each other in a corner.

Harry James' "It's Been A Long, Long Time" came on the jukebox.

"C'mon darlin', they're playing our song." Jim appeared out of nowhere and reached for her hand.

"We don't have a song." She hadn't danced in heels for a long time and her feet were aching. She would have been happy to sit this one out.

"If we had a song, this would be it. Will you dance with me for old time's sake?"

"We don't have any old times, either," she laughed, but let him pull her out of the chair.

They made it one circuit around the dance floor before Greg cut in. Jim handed her over without argument and Kate slipped into his arms with a delicious sense of anticipation that grew stronger every time he touched her.

Jim immediately cut in on TJ, who was dancing nearby with a red headed nurse Kate didn't know.

"Do we look like we need a chaperone?" Greg asked. "Are you still worrying about my health?"

"I'm worried about what will be left of you tomorrow." Jim turned to Kate. "Be gentle with him. He's not as young as he used to be."

"I'm older than you but I'm not dead," Greg said.

"Hope you had a nap today, darlin', sounds like you're not going to get any sleep tonight," Jim returned.

"Who's not getting any sleep tonight?" Don glided past. He looked at Greg, then Kate. "Try to keep it down, my tent is right next to yours. Katie, we'll need him back in the morning. In one piece."

The girls Jim and Don were dancing with looked properly scandalized at this exchange. Kate pressed her face against Greg's shoulder to muffle a laugh that threatened to turn into a yawn. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of her dress. So it had come to this – they'd done nothing more than dance together and his men were already teasing her about the next morning. She realized she didn't care.

"Tell me, are your men always so concerned about you?" she asked with mock politeness.

"No," he said drily. "You seem to bring it out in them."

The tempo dropped, the slow rhythm of the music drifting over them like smoke. Some enterprising Black Sheep had taken the lightbulbs out of the fixtures over the dance floor, sending the space into a soft twilight. Greg stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, brushing a loose curl behind one ear. She turned her face into the caress and wrapped both arms around his neck as his hands slid down to circle her waist. He smelled intoxicating, like soap and Scotch and warm, clean male.

She was lost in him, the heat of his touch, the rhythm of his breathing. The couples surrounding them blurred into mist. It was only the two of them, together in a bubble of music and shadow. He lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers, their searing promise igniting every nerve in her body. She acknowledged that promise, returned it, and the next kiss was neither brief nor tentative. Kate's heart was pounding as her lips parted under his, inviting more. She was drowning in the sensation of his mouth against hers, even as he pulled away.

"If we stay here, we'll have an audience." His voice was low. "Come with me?"

He slipped an arm around her waist and they left the Sheep Pen.


	17. Chapter 17

" _I generally avoid temptation, unless I can't resist it." Mae West_

 **Chapter 17**

Kate woke in the pearl gray hour before dawn. Eyes closed, she rolled onto her back. Her head ached. No surprise there. Still, given the amount she drank last night, she thought she'd come out pretty well from French's celebration. Some of the revelers were probably still in the Sheep Pen, draped over chairs or sprawled on the floor. At least she'd made it to her bed.

Something about that bed felt different but in her drowsy state she couldn't pin it down. Something warm was pressed up against her. She let a hand reconnoiter. A tail thumped lazily against her leg in response.

Meatball? The dog was kind of crazy about her but he never left Greg's tent at night. What was he doing in hers?

She opened her eyes. Blinked. Familiar canvas above her head. Familiar military issue blanket across her legs. Her toes were sticking out the end of the blanket. She wiggled them. Good. She'd had the sense to take her shoes off before collapsing into bed. Funny, she didn't remember taking them off. She did a quick mental inventory. She was wearing . . . a dress? Oh. Yeah. _The_ dress. It was rucked up to her hips and sliding off one shoulder. Clearly not made to be slept in.

Her mind evaluated the situation. She wasn't as hung over as she probably deserved to be. Meatball was sleeping with her. Her clothes were still on, more or less. Her shoes were missing. Try as she might, she couldn't remember where they'd gone. She hoped Laura wouldn't take their demise personally. The girl was probably getting tired of loaning her things she was never going to get back – bathing suits, lingerie, shoes.

Something still felt different. She rolled her head to the left and squinted. Familiar mosquito netting. She rolled her head to the right.

 _Oh bloody hell!_

The previous night came crashing back to her in exquisite, breathless detail. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again.

Greg was sleeping on his back on the floor next to her bunk, a duffle bag wedged under his head and a blanket tossed casually across his mid-section. He didn't appear to be wearing anything else.

As if on cue, blue eyes opened.

"Morning, Cameron." His voice was husky with sleep.

"Morning, Boyington." Her response was automatic, like a familiar litany, even though her mind was racing. How many times had she said that over the last month? In the mess. In briefings. In the dark on the way to the flight line before an early mission. But never like this. Never with him sleeping two feet from her, albeit on the floor. What the hell had they done last night? Her alcohol- and exhaustion-fogged brain struggled to remember.

He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow.

"Ummm . . .?" She struggled to keep her voice casual, her mind still desperately trying the put the previous evening's events in order.

"Yes?" his voice was edged with humor, like he knew something she didn't and was enjoying it.

"What are you doing on the floor of my tent?"

He ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed it over his face.

"I was sleeping. Badly. But I'm not on the floor of your tent. I'm on the floor of my tent."

He paused to let this information sink in. When it didn't seem to have any effect, he added, "You're in my bed."

Kate bolted upright, dislodging Meatball and sending the blanket flying as she swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. Too late, she forgot about the dress and its migration northward while she slept. She tugged ineffectually at the fabric, which refused to move at all because she was sitting on it.

"What the . . .?"

She stared around. Boots. Shaving gear. Empty Scotch bottles. Cast off uniform. Definitely not her tent. That explained Meatball. The terrier had not been discouraged by her sudden exodus from their cozy arrangement. He laid his head in her lap.

"Umm . . .?"

"Yes?" Blue eyes sparkled. Dimples deepened. He was apparently enjoying this. Kate's mind was spinning in one direction, her body rising in another.

"Why am I in your bed?"

He laughed.

"That's just what a guy wants to hear in the morning. That's where you fell asleep."

"Fell asleep?"

"You went out like a light."

Kate thought about that, her mind still scrambling. It had been one hell of a party. She remembered dancing with him, remembered kissing him. Her body glowed with the memory of that kiss and the open-ended promise of it when they'd left together. Raining. It had been raining when they left. She'd been so tired. Now she was waking up in his bed but damned if she could remember exactly what had happened after they left the Sheep Pen. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to tell her.

She bit her lip. She had her clothes on, more or less, except for the mysterious shoes, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Her hair had tumbled down from its pins, cascading across her shoulders. She shoved at it impatiently and tugged the dress back up over her shoulder.

"Did we . . . ummm . . .?" She was pretty sure they hadn't. The heat of that unfulfilled need had started rising in her the minute he opened his eyes.

"Did we _what_?" His eyes played over her legs. The early glow of sunlight gilded the edge of the tent as he laid back and clasped his hands behind his head. His smile was pure innocence and she swore she could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. Kate dug her fingers into the canvas of the bunk. She couldn't take much more of this.

"You know exactly _what_!" She was trembling with frustration.

He reached out and let a hand trail from her knee, down the length of her calf, to caress her ankle. His fingers were warm and a little rough.

"No." Pause. "If we had, you'd remember it, sweetheart."

She didn't doubt that. That look. Those eyes. That mouth. Her entire body was simmering on the brink of taking him right there on the floor and to hell with anyone who happened to walk by.

"I have to go." Kate shoved Meatball off her lap and stood quickly. She yanked the dress down, although not before he'd had time to admire the bottom half of her borrowed lingerie.

"You look good in black," he said. His grin was unapologetic and the frank admiration in his voice threatened to push her completely off the precipice she was dangling from. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His hand was still on her ankle.

"Stop it!" she hissed. He wasn't going to make this easy. She wanted him with an ache that threatened a total disregard for anything resembling modesty but damned if she was going to do anything about it in an open sided tent on a fighter base as the sun was coming up.

"Stop what?"

"Stop making me want to stay."

"No one's making you leave. What's your rush?"

She got a grip on herself. Holding his eyes, let her lips play into a smile. "I like it slow. You don't have that much time right now."

She bent to pick up the shoes that were sitting by the door.

"Cameron?"

He was still laying on the floor, watching her with that intent blue gaze, mouth curved.

"Boyington?"

"Next time." He winked.

She fled into the gold pre-dawn light.

 **XXX**

Greg watched her go, admiring the lean curve of her thighs as she bolted out of his tent, still tugging her dress into place. The scent of her lingered in the air.

It was a good thing she'd left. One of them needed to be in control and it damn sure almost hadn't been him. If she'd stayed, it wouldn't have been slow. It wouldn't have been bad either, but she was too much of a good thing to rush.

It had been a spectacular party, one of the Black Sheep's finest. She'd been so light in his arms on the dance floor, the promise of her body warm against his. It was like the rest of the world had vanished when he kissed her and another whole realm of possibility had opened. The reality had been there were at least 20 other guys watching him kiss her and that was a little too much, even for him.

He wasn't sure exactly what his intentions had been when they left. He'd wanted to take her somewhere – anywhere – that the whole squadron wasn't watching every move he made. He'd made sure there was a jeep parked nearby and he'd made sure the keys were in his pocket so the thing would still be there when he needed it.

But it had been raining when they left the Sheep Pen, then they were right at his tent and the logical thing was to get out of the rain. They'd ducked inside and he'd stopped to tie the mosquito netting shut. He wasn't sure where things were headed but he knew he wasn't taking any chances with drunk Black Sheep – and there were a lot of them out there - wandering in. He'd turned from closing the door to find her sprawled on his bunk, out like a light.

He'd tried waking her. Truly, he'd given it his best shot but the girl was gone to the world, exhaustion and whisky having claimed her. Her only response had been a hand against his cheek, a murmured "Yes" and then she'd fallen back asleep.

He'd pulled off her shoes and tossed a blanket over her. Part of him had wanted to stretch out next to her and fall asleep with her in his arms. Part of him knew he would have never been able to sleep. Then Meatball had appeared from under the bunk, leaped on top and curled up against the curve of her legs.

That memory flooded back with clarity un-fogged by Scotch or a broken night's sleep on a hard floor. He looked at Meatball, who was thumping his tail, an idiotic canine grin on his face.

"Hell," he muttered. "You get to sleep with her and I end up on the floor. I think you just won the bet."

 **XXX**

It was crazy to think she'd make it back to her own tent without being spotted. The 214th never really slept. Someone was always awake, doing something, at all hours of the night. In all probability, she wasn't the only one slipping back to her own quarters before reveille. Not that they ever played reveille here.

She had barely kissed him and now she'd woken up in his bed. First kisses should be a private affair, she thought, where they could be given the proper amount of attention, so anything that had happened in the middle of a crowded dance floor didn't count. Really.

Not that she was likely to forget it. The pressure of his mouth on hers lingered, backed up by the touch of his hand on her leg minutes ago, keeping other thoughts in swirling motion. The fact he had claimed her in such a public manner wasn't lost on her. It probably didn't matter what had, or hadn't, happened after that – as far as the Black Sheep were concerned, it was a done deal. Now all she had to do was face them.

A low whistle split the morning air, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Damn, darlin', you look good in the morning."

 _Oh bloody fucking hell._

Jim was leaning against his tent. Kate cursed her inattentiveness. She'd been so close. Her own quarters were just around the corner.

She opened her mouth to say something, found no words in it, closed it.

"You sure got a big smile on your face this morning. That good, huh?"

Unconsciously, she realized she _was_ smiling. She tried to stop. She couldn't.

"I – we didn't – nothing happened," she said.

Jim gave her a long appraising look.

"Uh-huh. You just keep telling yourself that," he said in a voice that clearly indicated he didn't believe a word she'd said. He shook his head. "I hope you weren't too hard on him."

"He was still breathing when I left." She matched his tone, figuring the best defense was a good offense. Jim would never change and it was becoming painfully clear that the "nothing happened" line was going down in flames as soon as she said it. She was a firm believer in picking her battles and she did not seem likely to win this one.

Jim was still wearing his uniform, although his shirt was rumpled and untucked and his tie was missing.

"And where did _you_ spend the night, captain?" she asked sweetly.

Jim raised his eyebrows, not expecting this.

"Did you get your little red head home before curfew?"

"Her and her friend, both," he said with a deliberate leer. "You missed a good time. Coulda been you, too."

Kate gave up. She was not going to try one-upping him when she'd been caught slinking across the compound with her shoes in her hands.

"In your dreams, Gutterman," she said and walked away.

"Every night, darlin'," he called after her.

 **XXX**

The dress was clearly meant to be unzipped by someone other than its occupant, Kate thought. Well, she'd blown that, hadn't she? Finally contorting her hand enough to work the zipper down behind her back, she shimmied out of it and pulled on the oversized shirt she slept in. She looked at her watch. She could still catch a couple hours of rack time before the squadron went up at 0800. She collapsed on her bunk but now, perversely, sleep eluded her.

She rolled onto her back and threw an arm over her forehead. She'd fallen asleep on him. She was such an idiot. Sleep had been the last thing on her mind when they went into his tent but she'd been so damned tired. The minute she sat down on his bunk, she hadn't stood a chance.

Waking up to those blue eyes a few feet away this morning had nearly given _her_ a heart condition. That look. _"If we had, you'd remember it."_ That wink. _"Next time_." He might as well have guaranteed she'd never be able to fall sleep again. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Felt him. She rolled over and punched her pillow. It refused to yield any satisfaction.

After tossing and turning for what seemed like an eternity, Kate got up. She dressed in fatigues and a sleeveless work shirt and braided her hair over her shoulder. The wash rack was blessedly deserted. She scrubbed her face, brushed her teeth and deciding she'd stalled enough, headed in search of coffee.

Time for breakfast with Greg and 20 of his closest buddies.

 **XXX**

Given the early hour and the scope of last night's party, there were a remarkable number of men already in the mess. Or maybe not so remarkable, Kate thought, checking her watch, since they had a mission to fly in 30 minutes. She stood outside, listening to the rhythm of their conversation.

"Anyone seen French? He may not have survived his own party."

" . . . she had me beggin' for salvation . . ."

"Hey Anderson . . . you get any sleep last night? Looks like you got rode hard and put away wet."

" . . . so then I said, I've got a better idea. That's when she slapped me . . ."

" . . . then her friend asks if she can join us and I'm like, hell yeah!"

"Hey Pappy, you're looking about 15 years younger this morning. You find the fountain of youth last night?"

"Unlike you bunch of renegades, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"You don't have to tell us about the kiss, we all saw it, what happened after you left?"

"Shut up TJ, unless you want your teeth for breakfast."

Laughter.

Oh hell, she thought. On the one morning when she had hoped to avoid encountering the collective squadron, it seemed like they were all there, reliving last night's highlights. She squared her shoulders, hoped to God she wasn't still smiling like a lunatic because apparently there wasn't anything she could do about it, and walked in.

The conversation and jokes stopped the second she entered. She could have heard a pin drop in the silence. Oh yeah. They knew. Apparently Greg had not served her up as the main course for breakfast conversation but she was under no illusion that Jim would have been only too happy to regale them with tales of their pre-dawn encounter.

Greg was sitting with Jim and Bobby Anderson. A smile broke over his face when he saw her.

"Good morning, Cameron." His voice reflected that smile. The men would have to be deaf not to hear the inflection in it.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and turned to face him.

"Good morning, Boyington," she said. Then, with deliberate slowness, added, "Again."

The men whooped and a few of them broke into applause. Kate knew she was blushing furiously but there was no way she could successfully protest their misguided assumption. Perception is reality, she reminded herself and this particular perception clearly left any little room for doubt.

"Hey, Katie, thanks for leaving him in one piece for us," Casey called from the next table.

"It was my pleasure," she said.

More hooting and hollering was followed by a number of off-color suggestions and then the topic moved on to where other various squadron members had spent the night. Amid the banter, Kate felt Greg's eyes on her. She raised her coffee mug in acknowledgement. He returned the gesture and said softly, "Next time, Cameron, next time."


	18. Chapter 18

" _When I'm good I'm very good, but when I'm bad, I'm better." Mae West_

 **Chapter 18**

While in England, Kate had grown accustomed to seeing pilots return from missions in varying states of wear and tear and the Black Sheep were no different. While a successful mission achieved its goal without loss of men or planes, there was almost always a degree of collateral damage.

Even if they didn't strike a fatal blow, the 20 millimeter rounds from the Zeros or ammo from gun placements on the ground found weak spots and amplified maintenance issues and plain old wear and tear on the Corsairs. Oil lines broke, fuel lines leaked, rudders sheared off, landing gear jammed, smoke filled cockpits, instruments failed and flak chewed through steel and glass alike. Just because a pilot set a plane safely back on the airstrip did not mean he got out of it in the same shape he had taken off in.

So when a round from a zeke cracked the canopy on Casey's plane and showered the cockpit with metal and glass shrapnel, he had managed to land before losing control and careening off the runway. Greg and Jim drug him out and hauled him off to the hospital to get stitched back together. Casey spent 24 hours in the ward before being released to administrative duty. His arm was healing now but the flight surgeon hadn't cleared him to return to the squadron's active duty roster yet.

In the meantime, a replacement pilot was sent from Rendova. Lieutenant Alan McNeil was trouble. While the same could be said about most of the 214th's pilots, McNeil had perfected it to an art form. His arrogance and condescension had the entire squadron on edge. He was beyond offensive, which was saying quite a bit, and he was beyond crude when it came to women.

The Black Sheep didn't hesitate when it came to talking about their conquests with the opposite sex but they were altar boys by comparison to McNeil. His view of women as little more than objects for sexual gratification had driven the nurses completely out of the Sheep Pen on their off-duty hours, giving the unit another reason to dislike him.

The first night McNeil met Kate, she'd been tending bar. This wasn't a very demanding job since most of the Sheep Pen patrons tended to help themselves, but it gave her a good excuse to spend time with Greg without looking like they were intentionally spending time together. They were surrounded, as usual, by other men relaxing with drinks and cards at the end of the day.

The squadron was convinced beyond a doubt that she and Greg had slept together the night of Don's party. This assumption seemed to be singularly based on the fact that she'd admitted to waking up with him. Which was true, as far as that went.

She'd woken up in his bed. But the Black Sheep had enthusiastically assumed a certain degree of activity had occurred before they woke up together and were not about to let repeated denials on Kate's part change their mind.

They pushed Greg mercilessly about it, too. If Kate was around, he just glared at them and they dropped the subject. She had no idea what he told them when she wasn't around but it was clear he meant it when he said a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. The dynamic between the two of them had shifted and while neither of them were denying it, it wasn't like they'd had a lot of time to spend alone together since then.

Their nightcaps were about the only real time they weren't surrounded by both the other occupants of the 214th and the daily demands of life on a front area base. So, since the morning after the party, the two of them had simply they carried on like they had before and if the public face of their relationship had gotten noticeably more intense, no one said anything.

McNeil's first night at the Sheep Pen had not gotten him off on a good foot with Kate.

"I'll have a double with you on the side, honey," he had said, looking her up and down, "and then I'll have you on the top and again on the bottom."

"No. You won't," she'd said coolly, and put down the bar rag and walked out. She didn't mind the other men's off-color jests because they all did it as easily as they breathed. If they didn't tease her about something regularly, she wondered if they were sick. They usually teased her about Greg, pushing for details with an insolence that would have been considered harassment in any other situation, but coming from the Black Sheep, was simply part of their daily candor.

Kate found herself having ridiculously convoluted conversations with the men in which they tried to tease her into revealing details of the night of Don's party. She'd backed Anderson up against the wall the previous day before a mission briefing, jabbing a finger in his chest and saying, "What part of _nothing happened_ don't you understand?"

"Cameron, are you harassing my pilots again?" Greg had asked when he walked in.

"He started it," Kate muttered, collecting her notebook and pencil in preparation for the briefing.

"You finished it," Anderson whispered, sitting down next to her. She had glared him into silence.

The pilots played the age angle endlessly, assuring her if she ever found herself in need of a younger man, they were willing to accommodate her. She usually ended up telling them what they could do with themselves, although she was laughing as she said it. _Men._

But there was something about McNeil that didn't fit the rest of the squadron's easy camaraderie and it made Kate look over her shoulder any time she was alone. She tolerated the man at meals and during briefings, any time there were others around, but avoided him beyond that. She'd stopped using the squadron's showers, no matter how tired or dirty she was, preferring the longer drive to clean up in the security of the nurse's quarters.

Since McNeil seemed to hang out in the Sheep Pen constantly, Kate made it a point to be elsewhere. She worked almost exclusively in her tent now. While other members of the squadron were welcome there in the course of daily activity, McNeil was oblivious to her cool reception of him.

"C'mon, honey, why don't you and me go down to the beach tonight," he'd said one evening when he stopped by her tent and overstayed his welcome after the first 10 seconds.

"Not interested," she said bluntly. "And if you don't mind, I'm on deadline."

McNeil was not inclined to take subtle hints.

"Bet I could get your mind on something else."

"Please leave, Lieutenant. These are private quarters and I'm working." Her tone had been icy but to no effect.

Jim had seen McNeil walk by and guessed his destination. A few minutes later, he ambled over to Kate's and stuck his head in.

"Everything all right here, darlin'?"

"Peachy," she said and slammed the carriage back on her typewriter. "The lieutenant was just leaving."

Outside, McNeil expressed a very graphic opinion about what he'd like to have Kate put her mind on.

"Here's some free advice," Jim said. "Leave her alone."

"Why? You getting a little of that action?"

"Nope."

"Then it's every man for himself, isn't it?"

"It's your funeral," Jim said, and walked away.

 **XXX**

"Honestly, Kate, how do you live like this?" Dee looked around for a place to sit.

"Sorry, I gave the maid the afternoon off." Kate leaned from her desk and chucked a stack of books and papers onto the floor so her friend could sit in the tent's other chair. "Until that asshole McNeil leaves, this is where I spend most of my time, so see what you can do to get Casey back on active duty. Maybe he needs a little extra TLC – you're good at making that happen."

Before Dee could reply, someone knocked.

"Hey, Hutch," Kate greeted the mechanic as he stepped in. He held out a tattered and grease stained field manual.

"Check out pages 72 to 80," he said. "Talk to you later."

"Okay, thanks."

Dee had driven over to the base under the guise of checking on Casey's injuries and stopped to see Kate afterward. She was now sitting among the rampant chaos of the tent. Stateside newspapers, Stars And Stripes, notebooks, two dictionaries, an Associated Press style book, a battered Royal typewriter, spare typewriter ribbons, pencils, fountain pens, ink, typing paper, carbon paper, photographs and other various and sundry items cascaded off the desk and onto the surrounding floor. A map of the Solomons was tacked to the mosquito netting, along with prints of Kate's favorite photos. About one-third of the tent was still occupied with crates of Scotch, some newly acquired Australian wine and several boxes of heaven only knew what.

Her bunk was pushed up along one side to make room for her desk, a trunk of camera gear and all of the black market stock. Clean laundry was haphazardly folded in an open trunk and recently washed bras and panties hung on a clothesline strung along the back wall. Kate didn't have a problem hanging the rest of her laundry on the communal lines strung between tents but she was having no part of airing her under things in front of male personnel. It didn't do much good, since the men were in and out of her tent on a regular basis anyway as they helped her with story angles or just stopped to visit, but it was the principal of the thing. And they usually had the decency to look the other way. Usually.

A half-full fifth of Scotch sat on her desk. There were no glasses in sight. She and Greg had passed the bottle back and forth the previous night, joined by Casey. Since his arm was still in a sling and he wasn't flying, he'd been working overtime on the unit's wheeling and dealing. Lard's generosity with the supply line only went so far, and the two men had been finessing a deal involving Scotch for carburetors which had apparently hit a snag. Kate had found herself drawn into the intrigue of the unit's black market schemes with fascination, although part of her mind was wondering what might be happening if Casey hadn't been a third wheel for their night cap.

TJ stuck his head in the door.

"Hey, Katie, briefing in 10. Oh, hi, Dee." And he was gone.

"For someone who has a tent to herself, I've never seen a less likely place for privacy," Dee commented.

"You got that right," Kate said. "This place might as well have a revolving door for all the traffic that goes through here."

She'd long since given up actually closing the door beyond dropping the mosquito netting at night. After Greg had publicly claimed her the night of Don's party, she knew no one on the base was going to touch her. The men had become more like brothers. Perfectly annoying brothers who delighted in teasing her every chance they got.

"Sooooo . . ." Dee began.

"Stop it right there." Kate held up an admonitory finger. "I know what you're going to ask and the answer is still it's none of your business. Why is everyone around here so interested in things that are none of their business?"

Dee's eyes were sparkling. "Can you blame me? It's kind of fun to watch you acting like nothing's going on."

"You're just as bad as the Black Sheep. And there _isn't_ anything going on."

"That kiss while you were dancing was not nothing," Dee observed. "And come on, Katie, we've all seen the way he looks at you. Whew! Is it hot in here?" She laughed and ruffled the neck of her uniform blouse. "By the way, Laura says keep the shoes and everything. She figures at the rate you're going, you'll need them again."

Kate did not see any opportunities requiring cocktail dresses and lingerie in the immediate future but she didn't say anything.

"One kiss," she said. "That's all there is. And apparently you and everyone else saw it, so there's nothing to tell." One searing kiss that still ricocheted through her body every time she thought about it. " She paused. "And tell Laura thanks, I appreciate it. But there's a war going on, if you haven't noticed, and that's kind of our first priority."

"It doesn't hurt to get away from the war for a while," Dee said. "A couple of hours. Just to be alone with someone and not . . . here." She picked up the tattered sheaf of papers Hutch had delivered.

"Field Maintenance Manual for Vought 4FU Corsair? Is this your idea of light bedtime reading? No wonder you're sleeping by yourself!"

Kate raised her hands above her head and stretched. "Don't ask. Hutch got some crazy idea that since my hands are smaller than any of the mechanics, there are some maintenance jobs I could help them with and save a lot of time while they work on the bigger stuff. I told him I'd read this section but not to expect me to understand any of it. And I'm sleeping by myself because there's no way in hell two people could actually sleep on one of those cots."

Dee rolled her eyes.

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

"Dee Ryan!" Kate said in pretend shock. "If your mama heard you talk like that she whip both our backsides! Get out of here! Go kiss Casey and make him better. And quit being so interested in where I'm sleeping. Or not sleeping. I'm gonna be late for the briefing."

 **XXX**

The Black Sheep were on their way home from a routine bomber escort. The mission had been a milkrun, with men and planes returning unscathed and in high spirits. The radio chatter on the return trip drifted, as it often did, to women.

"Something I've been meaning to ask you boys," McNeil drawled. "What's the deal with that sweet little piece you got living with you? The one with the legs that won't quit?"

There was a brief silence before Boyle answered.

"Katie? She's press corps assigned to the base."

"Not what I meant. She belong to anyone or is she free for the taking? Bet she'd be a wild night's ride."

Another awkward silence.

"We don't think of Katherine that way," Anderson said.

"Oh come on," McNeil sniggered. "A girl who looks like that? Don't tell me you haven't all dreamed about having her flat on her back."

"Cut it out," Jim said. "She's one of the Black Sheep. Let it go."

McNeil didn't let it go.

"Sounds like maybe one of ya'll might be the lucky guy who's getting tangled up in those legs."

"You're out of line, McNeil, knock it off," Greg said.

"She's pretty easy access for you boys, living right on the base, you take turns or what?"

"I said that's enough." Greg's voice was steel. "Another word out of you and we're gonna settle this on the ground."

Once again, McNeil didn't know when to shut up.

"No offense, Major, just wondered who's bed she's spending time in, that's all. Thought maybe there's enough of her to go around."

"On the ground, McNeil."

 **XXX**

Listening to the squadron's chatter in the ops shack, Kate went deadly quiet. She and Casey had been working out logistics of the ongoing parts-for-Scotch deal when the radio had picked up the Black Sheep's banter on their way home.

Casey shifted uncomfortably, watching as the color rose in Kate's cheeks, then drained away and her eyes went flint hard. After the last transmission, she bolted out of the building and into the jeep parked in front.

"Katie, wait! Greg will handle it when they land," he yelled, flying out the door behind her. He scrambled into the passenger seat as she turned the motor over and jammed it into gear.

"Not if I get there first."

 **XXX**

McNeil's plane had already landed, with Greg and Jim right behind him, when Kate slammed the jeep to a stop on the flight line.

"Think she heard any of that?" Jim asked as Greg ducked under his plane's wing. Kate had leaped out of the jeep and was storming toward McNeil. Her body was a rigid line of fury.

"I'd say she did." Greg pulled off his gloves. He was ready to take the man apart for his attitude but it looked like Kate was going to beat him to it.

"Should we stop her?" Jim pulled up next to him.

"Be my guest." Greg thought back to that night in the dark room when she'd been furious at Jim. This was 100 times worse. Jim apparently realized discretion was the better part of valor.

"Think I'll take a pass on that." He folded his arms across his chest.

Kate stopped in front of McNeil, who was drawing off his gloves and headgear. He looked surprised to see her.

"You. Bastard. How dare you talk about me like that!" It wasn't a question.

The pilot's face registered a second's surprise then his usual patronizing sneer settled over his features.

"You got a temper on you, honey, bet that makes you even hotter between the sheets. No wonder these boys are so – "

Kate slapped him hard across the face. The sound cracked like a rifle shot. Stunned, McNeil stepped back and stared at her in disbelief. She didn't back down.

"You little bitch. You just hit an officer. Someone oughta teach you some respect." He threw his gear down and stepped toward her, hand rising in retaliation.

Kate met him mid-stride, grabbed his wrist and twisted. His momentum carried him forward as she hooked her right leg between his. He tumbled and she was on him in a second, clinging to his back as he sprawled in the dirt. McNeil rolled and shook her off as he fell, using his weight to pin her by the shoulders. She let herself go limp, felt him relax, then kneed him hard in the groin and twisted out from under him. She was on him again, shoving her elbow into the back of his neck, rolling him face down in the dirt. She slammed a knee between his shoulders and twisted his arm up hard.

"You. Arrogant. Ass." Each word was punctuated by jerking his arm higher. "How dare you talk about women that way!"

"Get off me! Ouch! She's breaking my arm!" McNeil thrashed but Kate had the advantage of leverage and she used it. "Somebody get her off me!"

By now, the rest of the squadron had landed and formed a circle around them. Greg looked at the men.

"Any of you hear anything?"

The consensus was negative.

Kate grabbed McNeil's hair with her free hand and jerked his head up. "For as long as you stay on La Cava, you will not look at me. You will not speak to me and you will not talk about me. Do I make myself clear?"

The pilot rolled, trying to dislodge her. She shifted her balance easily and jammed a knee into his kidney.

"I asked you a question, Lieutenant. Do I make myself clear?"

McNeil groaned in acquiescence.

Kate let go of him and got to her feet. She wiped her hands on her pants. One elbow was bleeding. There was a new rip in her fatigues. Looking neither left nor right, she stalked back to the jeep, turned the motor over and spun the tires as she left.

"I'm glad she landed in your bed after all," Jim said quietly. "She might kill you but you'll die happy."

"That thought has crossed my mind." Greg rubbed his hand across his face. McNeil struggled to his feet. None of the pilots offered him a hand up.

"Get your gear together, you're done here," Greg said. "You'll be on the transport when it leaves this afternoon."

McNeil wiped dirt off his face and sneered.

"So, you're the one who's doing her. CO's privilege, huh? Does she always like it that rough?"

 **XXX**

McNeil limped onto the transport that afternoon with one eye swollen shut, a broken nose, several loose teeth and a possible concussion. The incident report said he had slipped and fallen while climbing out of his Corsair. It was signed by Major Greg Boyington and witnessed by his executive officer, Captain James Gutterman.


	19. Chapter 19

" _You should be kissed and often, by someone who knows how." Rhett Butler, "Gone With The Wind"_

 **Chapter 18**

Kate combed her damp hair up into a loose tail, twisted it artfully around itself and stuck several pins into it. She paused in front of the small mirror hanging from the center pole of her tent. The resulting effect was slightly reckless but if her hair stayed out of her eyes and off her neck in the tropical warmth, she didn't care.

Humming "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition," she cuffed up the sleeves of her shirt. She started to tuck the shirttail into her cut-offs then decided against it. The evening was warm and she had no plans beyond spending some time with Rhett and Scarlett. Or Ashley and Scarlett. Or whoever Scarlett was terrorizing at the moment. She'd barely had any time to read lately. And she should write to Sarah. Or she could hang out in the Sheep Pen for awhile, now that McNeil was gone. She knew Greg would come by for a drink later, which opened up another whole realm of possibilities.

A face appeared over her shoulder in the mirror, blue eyes and a smile that made her heart jump. The rest of her jumped, too.

"Damnit, Boyington! Don't sneak up on me like that!" She'd been so lost in the potential of the evening she hadn't heard him walk in.

Greg stopped behind her and rested his hands low on her waist. It was the first time he'd touched her since the morning after Don's party and her body responded with such a rush of sensation she felt a little betrayed by it.

"C'mon, Cameron," he said, breath tickling her neck. "Get in the jeep."

Wrenching her senses back under control, she turned and narrowed her eyes. "The last time you said that, I ended up in an airplane. A very small airplane. I still owe you for that."

"You liked it. Admit it," he said, adding, "no planes this time."

She had liked it, eventually, but she wasn't going to tell him that. When she reached for her camera and notebook, he shook his head.

"No. You're off duty tonight."

"What - ?"

"No questions. You still don't take orders very well. Come on, this sunset isn't going to last forever."

She looked at him, puzzled.

"Remember? When you were pretending not to like flying with me, you said you could enjoy a sunset just as easily from solid ground."

She got in the jeep. Meatball plopped himself happily between the two of them and they took off.

They didn't go to the beach. Instead, he drove to the overlook on the north end of the island where he'd done the flyover her first day on La Cava. Splashed in front of them, the sun was a shimmering ball of molten orange as it sunk through gilded lavender clouds toward the Pacific. Greg uncorked a bottle and handed it to her.

"Here's to sunsets on the ground," Kate said. She lifted the bottle in a toast and drank, then handed it back to him. "I heard about McNeil's . . . accident . . . after I left this morning."

"What did you hear?"

She didn't answer. She caught his right wrist and turned his hand over. The skin on his knuckles was split and bruised. She raised an eyebrow. She didn't see a mark on him anywhere else. Apparently McNeil hadn't put up much of a fight.

"I heard he fell out of his plane. That was careless of him."

"It was."

She kissed his knuckles, feeling a little guilty at how much she enjoyed the sensation of his skin under her lips.

"Better?"

"It's a start." He saluted her with the bottle and took a drink. "About this morning. You were a little . . . . surprising." There was a warm trace of admiration in his voice. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Riding horses."

"Horses?"

"I grew up on horseback. When I moved to California to be closer to Sarah, I worked as an exercise rider at a track before I started at The Examiner. I'm way too big to be a jockey but I love to ride. That's how I got started with the track photography that eventually got me into the AP."

She was still holding his hand, admiring the blunt strength of his fingers, letting her own lace between them.

"Once you learn to balance on top of a thousand pound horse running 30 miles an hour, it's not a big deal to stay on top of a 180 pound man for a few minutes."

He grinned and she looked horrified.

"That's not what I meant!" She slapped him on the chest. "Stop it. I meant, riding teaches you how to use balance and pressure to get something that outweighs you a hundred times over to go where you want without killing both of you. It's a skill with a lot of applications."

"A lot of applications? You almost dislocated his shoulder."

"You can control a horse with a light hand but sometimes you have to beat men over the head to make your point."

Greg chuckled, then sobered.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that radio transmission this morning."

Kate shrugged and helped herself to another drink.

"It happens. Jerks like McNeil don't come around very often but when they do I can handle it."

"Handle it? Sweetheart, I'll take you on my side in a fight any time." He paused. "Do you want me to tell the boys to back off about the other night? I know they're not leaving you alone about it."

"No." She shook her head, half-flattered that he would intervene on her part, half-embarrassed because they hadn't talked about it since it happened. "Your boys might be a little . . . forward . . . but they're okay. They're just teasing, they aren't going to mess with me."

"Honestly, Cameron, after this morning no one in their right mind would mess with you."

She shifted in the seat, bumped her elbow and winced. Greg reached out and caught her left hand. She was wearing one of her few remaining shirts with sleeves. He pushed the loose cuff up and bent her elbow. The skin was scraped raw from elbow to wrist, courtesy of the morning's scuffle. He raised his eyebrows.

"I'll live," she said. "It's a long way from my heart. And I'm guessing McNeil's head hurts a lot worse than my arm right now."

He kissed the edge of the abraded skin gently.

"Better?"

"It's a start." She let her eyes linger on his, drinking in the angles of his face, the dark hair, windblown on the evening breeze.

Meatball was sitting between them, taking up a lot of room. Greg scratched the dog on the butt.

"C'mon, Meatball, move."

The terrier ignored him. He tried again with the same results.

Kate ruffled the dog's ears.

"C'mon buddy, get in the back."

Meatball hopped up and climbed into the back of the jeep, wagging his tail.

"That dog likes you."

"Of course he does. We've shared a bed." She laughed at the look on his face.

 **XXX**

Casey burst into the Sheep Pen. He looked a little frantic.

"Anyone seen Greg? Colonel Lard's on the horn. He's called him twice already today and Greg's never around to take the call. Now he's _demanding_ to talk to him and he won't take no for an answer this time. He sounds pissed."

"What day is it?" Jim asked, surveying his poker hand.

"Tuesday. What's that got to do with it?"

"Stateside papers get delivered to Espritos on Tuesday. I'd guess Kate managed to write something Lard didn't appreciate. Again. What were his exact words?" Jim tossed two cards on the table, took two more.

" 'Go drag him out of whatever nurse's quarters he's in and get his ass back here and have him call me or I'll have both of you up on charges of insubordination and refusing direct orders,' " Casey recited. "So where is he?"

"He and Kate left a while back," Jim said. "I wouldn't try too hard to find them, if you know what I mean."

Casey ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions.

"I wish I was back in the hospital," he muttered. "Life was a lot easier there."

"You're gonna be back in the hospital if you interrupt them," Boyle said. "Holy shit, could you believe Kate this morning? I thought she was gonna stuff McNeil in his own pocket. Greg's got his hands full with her."

Jim looked at his watch.

"Yep, I'm guessing by now he probably does."

The men laughed. In the past, their leader's romantic entanglements had usually been short-lived. Such was often the nature of hook-ups during wartime, but the men suspected in Greg's case it was because none of the nurses who crossed his path ever held his interest beyond a one night stand. They never would have thought a 22-year-old Associated Press correspondent would be the one who changed that but the facts were speaking for themselves. Kate added an element of interest to all of their lives but the subtle undercurrent of energy that swirled around her and their CO whenever they were near each other was something else all together.

Groaning, Casey left the Sheep Pen. There were a lot of places they could be. This could take a while and, in spite of Lard's pending charges, he really wasn't in a hurry to find them. He was gonna be damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

 **XXX**

The molten sunset faded to pastels as the sun slipped into the ocean, painting the water's surface with fire. The sky turned to indigo as the stars came out. A crescent moon hung low in the sky even as a faint rim of orange still hugged the horizon. The evening was warm as the day's heat radiated up from the rock outcropping. Kate took off her boots and socks and stretched her legs out on the dash, crossing them at the ankles as she leaned back in her seat.

"Are you doing that on purpose?" Greg asked.

"Doing what?" She looked at him through half-lowered lashes. She knew exactly what she was doing, although she'd only recently realized the effect her bare legs had on him.

"Do you know how hard it is to think about anything else when you do that? Legs like yours should be illegal."

"Good. Then maybe we're even for all the times you've derailed my writing by just walking into my tent. Don't act like you didn't know." She took her feet off the dash and folded her legs back neatly against the seat. "Is that any better?"

"No. I can still see them."

"In that case . . . " She stretched out again, feet on the dash.

He pinned her with a look and put a hand on her thigh, running it slowly down to her knee. He was close enough she could see the small scar under his lower lip.

"And what does me walking into your tent have to do with you not being able to write?"

"It just . . . does." She swallowed hard.

A rogue breeze tugged a strand of hair across her face. Automatically, she reached up to tuck it behind her ear. Greg caught her hand and brushed his lips over the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped as adrenaline shot through her.

Letting her wrist go, he cradled her face with one hand and kissed her. Her heart was pounding in her throat when he pulled back. She met his eyes, impossibly blue in the moonlight. His lips were curved in a half smile.

"You aren't going to slap me, are you?"

"No." Her voice was a whisper. "Just don't make me get in an airplane."

He took her mouth again, long and slow this time. She invited the kiss to deepen, her lips opening under his as she wrapped an arm around his neck, her other hand flat against the hard muscle of his chest. Her pulse echoed the surf crashing on the shore below.

She thought the night he kissed her in the middle of the dance floor had been dazzling. This was even better. Never in her life had a man made her feel like this. He kissed her like she'd been made for him and no one else.

Greg pulled her closer, one hand in the small of her back, the other tangling in her hair. She came into his arms easily, her body's response threatening the limits of her self control. His lips broke from hers and traced the line of her jaw, brushing against the skin of her throat. His hand slid down her thigh, gripped her behind one knee and pulled her onto his lap. She straddled him, her mouth still hard against his.

Kate ran her fingers through his hair, thinking of all the times she'd dreamed of it. It was just long enough to twist her fingers in and pull him closer. He was kissing the hollow of her throat, now, then dipping lower. as his hands slid under the loose fabric of her shirt. She arched against the pleasure of their rough warmth as he circled her waist. The more he touched her, the more she wanted.

He broke away, held her eyes as he slid his hands to the top button of her shirt. She answered his slow smile with one of her own. _No, not going to slap you now, either._

Never taking his eyes from hers, he undid the buttons with deliberate slowness and slid it off her shoulders. The breeze lifted the heat from her skin as his thumbs traced the line of her collarbones. Finally breaking her gaze, he lowered his head to let his mouth trail across the top of her breasts. She shuddered with the pleasure of his touch. The reality of his body hard against hers surpassed any of the dreams that had haunted her sleep in recent nights.

One hand still in his hair, she pulled his head back and grazed her lips down his neck. He smelled faintly of aftershave and tobacco smoke and the heat of him under her mouth was intoxicating. She was trembling and gripped his arms to anchor herself. God, how had she ever managed to get through that plane ride, sitting on his lap? She'd been half-terrified then. Only half.

Now, she let go of any reservations she'd had about him. There was only a sense of absolute rightness in this moment. Some remote part of her brain that was still capable of coherent thought registered the fact that this must be what it was like to make love with a man who gave pleasure as well as took it, not a boy pushing only toward his own satisfaction.

His hands slid upward. The rush of heat from his fingers through the thin fabric of her bra left her gasping. She pressed herself against his hands and tipped her head to find his mouth again. He tasted like Scotch, welcoming her tongue as it crossed his.

His hands were building anticipation with every touch, teasing her breasts and caressing the planes of her belly. His mouth was hot against her throat when a motor sounded on the track leading up from the base. Headlights cut through the tropical night.

"Greg?" a voice called. "Um . . . sorry about this . . .really . . . but . . ." It was Casey.

"Son of a bitch." Greg pressed his face against her neck as the lights bounced toward them up the rough track. She could feel his heart pounding in a cadence to match hers. By some miracle, her shirt was still caught on her arms. He slipped it back over her shoulders and let his hands rest around her waist. She held his hot blue gaze, feeling him echo the frustrated need that was pounding through her body.

"This better be important," Greg yelled as Casey pulled up next to them. Kate noticed he'd cut the lights on his jeep. That was Casey. Always polite.

"Colonel Lard's on the horn for you. Actually, he's not anymore. But he was before. And he wants you to call him. ASAP." Casey must have realized he was babbling. He stopped talking and glanced at Kate, who had her shirt mostly re-buttoned. She hoped it was buttoned straight. She was still having trouble reining in the tongues of flame that kept licking around the edges of her self-control. She liked Casey but she could have cheerfully tossed him over the edge of the cliff right now.

"Did you tell him I was busy?"

"Yes sir, I did. But he insisted. He wouldn't take no for an answer this time. He threatened to charge you with insubordination if you won't call him. And then he threatened to charge both of us with failure to obey orders if I didn't come find you."

"How long did it take you to find us?"

"About an hour and a half. I, um, didn't try very hard."

"Small miracles," Greg muttered. He shifted Kate off his lap and she slid back into the passenger seat. Casey was looking anywhere but at either of them.

"Next time, Kate," Greg said quietly. He squeezed her knee and started the jeep. "And I'm not going to say that again."

 **XXX**

"Boyington! Why didn't you return my calls earlier?" Kate could hear Lard's voice echoing out of the receiver in the ops shack. She surreptitiously checked to make sure her shirt was buttoned evenly. It was. Casey still wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Well, sir, we are in the middle of a war out here." Greg didn't bother hiding the irritation in his voice.

"It's after 2200 hours. I very much doubt whatever you were in the middle of had anything to do with the war. And I've got better things to do than sit around waiting for you to call back."

"Yes, sir, so do I."

"Boyington, you have got to do something about this Cameron fellow! I just read his story about the Wiley kid. It makes him sound like he's the next ace but hasn't he wholesaled three planes since he's been with you? Do you know how much planes cost? And wasn't there some hushed up deal about him and an admiral's daughter getting caught in a restricted area while he was on R and R?"

 _No, that was Jim_ , Greg thought, but he didn't feel obligated to make the correction.

"TJ also splashed Hiratchi, which is something no one else has managed to do, including me. I read Cameron's story, thought it was a good piece about an American kid trying to do his best. I don't see what the problem is."

Lard's annoyance resonated down the line.

"I'll tell you what the problem is, Boyington. It's not just the Wiley story. Cameron is making it sound like you and your band of pirates are the United States' pride of the South Pacific."

"Is that a problem, sir?"

"Problem!" Lard roared. "I'm up to my ass in Congressmen asking questions I can't answer! Washington is breathing down my throat and I'm still getting complaints about your boys raising hell with nurses and the Navy. Get him over here to Espritos, I want to talk to him about his style of news coverage."

"That could be difficult, sir, the next transport won't be here for 3 days."

Lard grumbled.

"I'm too busy juggling congressmen to have time to fly out to your rock. A while back Moore said he'd go over there. I'll see if he can break loose and do it."

"You do that, sir."

The connection ended. In the silence that resonated, Greg looked at Kate and Casey.

"We're gonna have company," he said.


	20. Chapter 20

"Today's rain is tomorrow's whisky _." Scottish proverb  
_

 **Chapter 20**

Breakfast with the Black Sheep on an average morning could be a nonstop romp of innuendo. Mornings after parties or any other event that involved social pairings were often blatantly risqué as the boys reviewed the outcomes of the previous evening. They teased Kate as much as they teased each other. Given their rabid interest in her and Greg's relationship, Kate had gotten adept at judging the level of insolence in store for her within minutes of entering the morning mess. She always went in search of coffee prepared to hand back whatever the boys might serve up. Mornings at the 214th were not for the faint of heart.

The knowing grins on the pilots' faces that morning made it clear Casey did not share Greg's gentlemen-don't-kiss-and-tell attitude and had related at least a portion of the previous night's adventure. Kate had no idea how much he'd seen before he killed the lights on the jeep after he found them but she suspected it had been enough. A sweep of the mess hall showed her Greg wasn't there yet. If he had been, the boys would have been a little more subdued in their teasing but since he wasn't, Kate expected it to be open season on her. All right, she thought, game on. After a night of tossing and turning, she really needed coffee and wasn't about to hide in her tent until they all cleared out.

After filling a mug and scooping half-burned eggs onto a tray, she paused behind Casey and said, "If you told them anything you saw last night, I'm going to kill you and make it look like an accident."

She had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

"Too late, they made me tell them," he protested. Kate suspected they had threatened to interrupt any time he spent alone with Dee, which would be poetic justice, she thought.

Jim greeted her with an ear to ear grin and patted the bench next to him.

"You look tired this morning, Katie. I know it can be hard to sleep when it gets so . . . hot . . . at night."

Kate sat down across from him. She gave him her best come-hither smile and lied through her teeth.

"I slept delightfully, but thanks for your concern. I had the most wonderful dreams. You weren't in them."

"It's not too late for daydreams," Jim returned. "We don't go up until 0800. I got time if you do."

Kate raised her coffee cup and deliberately traced the rim with her tongue before sipping.

"You don't have that much time," she said. "Trust me."

Jim shook his head. "No wonder Greg isn't out of the rack yet. Darlin', you're going to be the death of him."

Kate flushed warm with the memory of last night. She could still feel the lean, hard power of his body under hers. Not for the first time, her mind considered how the evening might have ended if they hadn't been interrupted.

"I doubt that very much," she said and buried her face in her coffee mug.

Thankfully for her, Greg walked into the mess at that point and talk turned, if not to more mundane matters, then at least to nocturnal activities that did not involve either of them.

 **XXX**

"I read pages 72 to 80 and I understood exactly four words," Kate said to Hutch that afternoon, handing the Corsair maintenance manual back to him. "Just show me whatever it is you want me to do."

The mechanics were in the middle of their maintenance check list after the morning's mission. Hutch was convinced Kate, with her small hands, could help them out and she'd agreed to give it a shot.

After a brief orientation which consisted mainly of handing her a wrench, he set her to checking minuscule oil line connections buried deep in the planes' engines. It had turned into a job that was 10 percent visual and 90 percent tactile and Kate understood immediately how her smaller hands gave her an advantage over the male mechanics. She found it oddly satisfying work that gave her a new insight into Hutch's constant struggle to keep the planes in safe repair.

It was also incredibly hot, filthy work and after the first quarter hour, she was sweat-soaked and grime-streaked. Whatever the mechanics got paid, it wasn't enough, she thought. Balanced atop a ladder, she was developing a new appreciation for their colorful mastery of the English language. She was tightening a connection on the last Corsair when the hum of a motor signaled an incoming plane.

 **XXX**

When General Moore's L-5 touched down on the La Cava airstrip, Greg was there to meet him. He knew keeping Kate's identity under the radar of the brass on Espritos was not going to be possible much longer. It was sheer dumb luck that she'd gotten here at all without any of them knowing she wasn't a man. Now, the ideas she crafted into stories and the blunt accuracy of her writing was making the Black Sheep look better than ever and as a result, was keeping Lard in the hot seat.

If Lard had hoped embedding a correspondent with the 214th would have them all sleeping with the Marine Corps Manual under their pillows, he had been sorely disappointed. If anything, her continued presence was flying in the face of the regulations Lard held so dear. Even though assigning her here had been his idea in the first place, Greg had no doubt the colonel wouldn't hesitate to pull her out the minute he learned she was a woman. He wasn't sure what would bother Lard more – the fact K.C. Cameron was a woman living with the Black Sheep or the fact she wasn't cooperating with his campaign to whip the squadron into spit and polish compliance.

If it came to a choice between Lard and Moore, Greg would rather Moore know the truth about Kate and he would rather Moore know it first, before Lard caught wind of it. Moore tended to be open to negotiation when it came to unconventional situations and since the squadron had been formed there had been plenty of those to practice on.

Moore climbed out of the plane, pulled off his mae west and tossed it back through the open door.

"General!" Greg called in greeting.

"Boyington! Been a while since I've been out here." Moore looked around. "Still your own little slice of paradise, I see."

"We do what we can."

Moore snorted.

"You do more than that. This unit still has the highest kill rate in the theatre, no matter what else you've got going on." He paused. "Lard is having a cat about this Cameron fellow. I can't wait to meet him. His coverage of the 214th has done more in six weeks to boost the war effort in the South Pacific than half a dozen reporters could do in a year, no matter what Lard's got stuck in his craw. Where is he? I'll buy him a drink in that ramshackle bar of yours. Make sure it's the good stuff, though, not something your bunch of renegades has watered down."

Greg pointed toward the flight line where a slender figure wearing cut-off fatigues, a T-shirt and boots, balanced atop a ladder, half embedded in the engine of a Corsair. Although the figure's upper half was obscured by the plane's prop, the curve of hips and legs left no doubt as to the gender.

"What the hell? Since when do you have nurses working on planes?" Moore was confused. "That's one spectacular set of legs."

"That's not a nurse, General, that's K.C. Cameron."

Moore stopped dead in his tracks.

"No! You're having one over on me. Now where is he?"

"I'm telling you, sir, that's him. Her. Katherine Christine. K.C."

Moore fixed Greg with a disbelieving stare. He knew female correspondents existed but he'd never met one and the middle of the 214th was the last place he would have ever looked. He turned his gaze back to the figure atop the ladder.

" _That's_ K.C. Cameron? You mean to tell me that slip of a girl has been responsible for putting the Black Sheep on the front page of the New York Times? Those stories and photos have been fantastic – they make the reader feel like they're right in the middle of things."

"Yes, sir," Greg replied. "She's very good at that."

"At least tell me she's staying in the nurses' quarters and coming out here to . . ." he looked again at Kate, " . . . work?"

"No sir, she's bunking here."

"Here? On the base?"

"Yes, sir. Those were Lard's orders, that she sleep with us." The double entendre was deliberate and Moore knew it.

"How is it Colonel Lard doesn't know about her? Didn't he get her assigned here in the first place?"

"He did, sir. But the Associated Press handled the arrangements and she was only on Espritos briefly before coming here. They were supposed to meet but it didn't happen. She was a bit of a surprise to us, too."

Moore shook his head.

"Boyington, you're breaking at least half a dozen Marine Corps rules regarding fraternization between the sexes. You can't just have civilian female personnel living in the middle of an all-male base. How is it that she's stayed with your boys for six weeks and hasn't shot any of you?"

"It's been close a couple of times, sir. But she's very good at setting boundaries."

"Boundaries, my ass. She'd need a whip and a chair to keep your lot off her," the general snorted as they continued toward the plane.

"Cameron!" Greg called. "There's someone who wants to meet you."

Moore waved at him to be quiet.

"I like the view from here just fine," he said. "Those may be the nicest legs I've ever seen in my life."

Kate slowly withdrew from under the loosened engine cowling. She flashed a generous smile at Greg, then did a double take at the sight of the general. She made her way down the ladder and handed her wrench to Hutch.

"I quit," she said. "Cross airplane mechanic off my list of possible next careers."

"Thanks, Katie," the mechanic replied. "Same time tomorrow?" He tossed her a semi-clean rag and she scrubbed at her hands.

"Only if I don't get a better offer by then." She tossed the rag back at him. She turned to face the two men and Greg swallowed a smile. Kate's sweaty T-shirt clung like a second skin. The gauze she'd wrapped around her abraded left arm made her look a little rough. Her skin and clothes were streaked with grease and her hair was spilling out of its braid in unruly tendrils that accented the fine bones of her face. She looked hot and reckless and totally unexpected. She couldn't have looked better if she'd tried, Greg thought. This was exactly what he needed to put Moore off balance and keep him that way. If anyone was good at putting men off balance, it was Kate. God knew she'd done it to him often enough.

"Cameron, this is General Thomas Moore," he said. "General, K.C. Cameron, with the Associated Press."

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Cameron."

"Please, call me Kate," she said, shaking the proffered hand. "It's very nice to meet you, too, sir. Greg has told me a lot about you."

"I bet he has. I'd like to hear about your impressions of our little war. What do you say we get out of this heat and discuss some of your recent work over drinks?"

"I'd like that, General," Kate said, pushing sweaty hair off her forehead. "But please let me freshen up a little first. Why don't you gentlemen go ahead? I'll join you in a few minutes."

"Polite little thing, isn't she?" Moore commented, watching her walk away.

Greg thought back to yesterday morning, to Kate pounding McNeil into the dirt. Then he thought back to last night, her body hot and willing against his.

"She has her moments," he said, voice carefully neutral.

Moore eyed him with dawning understanding.

"If Lard knew she wasn't a man, he would have never approved posting her here."

"We'd like to keep her, General, she's good for morale," Greg said.

"I just bet she is," Moore answered. "The unit's morale in general or anyone's in particular?"

"I'd rather not say, sir," Greg said, but Moore caught the barely suppressed smile.

"Are you telling me the two of you are . . . ?" His voice trailed off.

"No sir. I'm not telling you anything."

Moore gave up.

"How - ? Aren't you about 20 years older than she is?"

"Not quite sir. That doesn't seem to be an issue."

"If Lard finds out what's going on here, he'll lose his shit," Moore said.

"I expect he will, sir. But he sent her here in the first place. I'm just following orders."

"First time for everything," Moore muttered. "I really need that drink."

 **XXX**

Kate did a fast cold water clean-up at the wash rack. Back in her tent, she pulled on a fresh T-shirt and shorts and loosely re-braided her hair. She'd met upper level brass often in her line of work but never in cut-off fatigues, with engine oil under her fingernails. Anywhere else, it would have been considered a breach of protocol not to dress for the occasion but nothing about this assignment was following protocol so why start now, she thought. She was fast becoming the poster child for flying in the face of convention.

She knew Moore's support was vital to keeping her at the 214th and she was aware of a degree of complicity between Greg and Moore, something going back to the beginning of the Black Sheep. She wasn't clear on those details but hoped it would be enough to keep the man on their side, not Lard's, when it came to her assignment on La Cava. But it wouldn't hurt to put her own spin on things, either. After wrapping a fresh bandage around her arm and snagging a notebook and pencil, she left her tent.

Kate let the door to the Sheep Pen slap shut behind her. The two men were standing at the bar. Moore's dark eyes regarded her with interest as she crossed the room. Without asking, Greg poured a tumbler of Scotch and handed it to her.

Kate lifted the glass.

"To freedom of speech," she said, smiling broadly at the general.

"To freedom of speech." Both men tapped their glasses to hers.

Kate was totally aware Moore believed she was there at his convenience, not the other way around, but she didn't see any reason why it had to stay that way. She had learned early in her career how to control an interview and she wasn't above using what her editor in Scotland had called "your God-given assets" when it came to working a reluctant source or swinging favor in her direction.

"Shall we, General?" She gestured toward a table. When they were seated, she opened her notebook to a fresh page and picked up her pencil. "There are some things I'd love to hear your opinion about."

"Certainly. May I ask what happened to your arm?" He indicated the bandage. Kate smiled.

"It's nothing, just a little misstep," she said, then joked, "You should see the other guy."

Moore chuckled and behind his back, Greg rolled his eyes.

"Now," Kate said brightly, crossing her legs and balancing the notebook on her knee, "What can you tell me about the plans we've been hearing about to send the new B17 E long-range heavy bombers into the Slot without fighter escort? Isn't that risky, given the concentrated Japanese presence in the area?"

 **XXX**

For the next hour and a half, Greg kept their glasses filled and watched as Kate used a combination of subtle body language and skillful questioning to derail any of the original intent Moore might have had for his visit. If he had planned to question her unlikely presence at the 214th or the writing style that was making Lard pull out what was left of his hair, he never got a chance. Greg didn't think he tried very hard, either.

Watching her work was a pleasure in itself. Her face was was a study in innocence as she asked questions and took pages of notes, hanging on Moore's every word with rapt fascination. Every time she shifted in her chair and re-crossed her legs, the general's eyes glazed over a little.

Finally, Moore drained his glass and stood.

"I've got to get back to Espritos," he said. "Thank you for your top rate Scotch and some very . . . interesting . . . conversation. Greg, I've been flying high cover for this unit since the beginning. I don't see any reason why that should change now." He looked at Kate. "It's been a pleasure talking with you, Kate. Keep up the good work. I'll tell Lard I've met K.C. Cameron and am confident he's doing his patriotic best to support the war effort."

"I appreciate that, sir," Kate said with a dazzling smile and sweep of her eyelashes.

Greg walked him out to where the L-5 was preparing to take off. Moore shook his head like a man coming out of a daydream.

"What just happened back there? I feel like she put a spell on me. I'd have given her the key to the Pentagon if she'd asked for it."

"I told you she was good, General."

"I'm not talking about her interview skills."

"I'm not either."

Moore shook his head.

"Boyington, I hope you know what you're doing."

"I've got a pretty good idea, sir."

 **XXX**

Kate was still in the Sheep Pen when he returned. Her feet were on the table and she was slouched in the chair with her head thrown back and her eyes closed.

"What, exactly, is Lard's problem with the 214th?" she asked, not opening her eyes. She'd known it was him from his stride as he crossed the floor.

"Me, mostly."

Kate laughed and sat up.

"Well that explains it."

"Lard can't see beyond the end of his rule book. We tend to have differences of opinion on a lot of things."

Kate thought that was an understatement if she'd ever heard one.

"Would I be one of those things?"

"You'd be at the top of the list, sweetheart. I'd prefer Lard never find out you're a Christine, not a Christopher. He'd find a way to yank you out of here and bring me up on charges at the same time. That seems to be one of his favorite pastimes."

"Can we count on General Moore to run interference?"

"After you got done with him just now? I'd say yes."

"You never get a second chance to make a first impression," Kate said briskly.

"God help Lard if you ever meet him face to face."


	21. Chapter 21

_Editor's note: Dogs for Defense was launched in January of 1942. As usual, I'm taking some liberties with history (I'm pretty sure women were not a part of this program when it began) because, hey, that's what I do._

 **Chapter 21**

 _"Man may have discovered fire, but woman discovered how to play with it."  
_

The last time enemy fighters strafed La Cava, just two days before Kate's arrival on the base, they'd torn the hell out of Jim and TJ's tent. Since then, the air raid siren had been silent. No marauding Japanese aircraft had singled out the island for their attention. Kate walked by the foxholes every day and she'd seen the jagged rips where the Zeroes' 20 mm rounds had chewed through tent canvas and splintered the wooden frames of base buildings, but on that sunny afternoon, coming under attack by enemy fighters was the last thing on her mind.

TJ had delivered the letter to her tent.

"Something from the States for you," he said cheerfully, handing her an envelope addressed in Sarah's familiar hand.

"Thanks, TJ!" Kate shoved her current story notes aside and opened the letter. It wasn't posted from Long Beach. The return address was from Cat Island, Gulfport, Mississippi. What was Sarah doing in Mississippi?

 _Dear Katie,_

 _I treasure your letters and cannot begin to imagine the adventures you have in your day to day life. The "distraction" you mentioned in your last letter sounds positively delicious. I am anxious to hear more about how things are developing in that regard._

You and everyone else, Kate thought.

 _Oh Katie, I have exciting news of my own. As you probably noticed, I am not in California any more. I have decided my calling to support the war effort lies beyond the bomber factory - I have joined the Army!_

Now, Kate dropped to the beach and wrapped her arms around her knees, the letter held loosely in her hand. What the hell are you doing, Sarah? In front of her, the blue waters of the Pacific stretched toward infinity. Her baby sister in the Army? Impossible. Sarah was a little girl. Okay, she was 20. Kate had been that age when she joined up with the Associated Press and headed off to Europe. Now, with the perspective of the last two years, 20 seemed impossibly young. Most of the Black Sheep were about that age, a tiny voice reminded her. But what in the world was her sister thinking? It wasn't like Sarah was ever going to serve in a war zone but still . . .

"TJ said you were down here." Greg's voice bumped her out of her reverie. He sat down next to her.

"News from home?" He gestured toward the letter. Kate had read it three times now and found it still said the same thing.

"Yeah."

"Bad?" He put an arm around her shoulders.

"No . . ." Kate shook her head, leaning against him. "Not at all . . . it's just . . . Sarah joined the Army!"

"Is there a law against that?"

"She's my little sister! She doesn't belong in the military!"

"It's okay for you but not for her?"

Kate laughed reluctantly.

"I'm not exactly _in_ the military." She sighed. "I'm just living with it. I guess Sarah will do wherever she wants to do."

"That sounds like a family trait." His eyes were warm on hers.

"I just . . . she's the _sensible_ one," Kate said. "I went flying off to Europe to have bombs dropped on my head . . . she stayed home with a safe, patriotic job building airplanes . . .and now . . ."

"Where's she taking her nurse's training?"

"That's just it – she's not a nurse. The Army has a new program, Dogs For Defense, and she's going to be a trainer. She took some fast tracked basic course and she's already stationed in Mississippi. God knows it takes the mail long enough to get out here, she moved there weeks ago."

"Hey! Pappy!" Casey's voice rang out. Kate looked over her shoulder to see him approaching. "We got problems with Overton, that supply sergeant on Espritos. He's really dragging his feet on this carburetor deal and we're running out of time."

"What's he want?" Greg asked. "He's already getting our best Scotch."

"It's not that. He wants - ," Casey broke off as the air raid siren wailed through the afternoon air. Kate shielded her eyes and scanned the sky. Two Zeroes were coming in fast from the south. "What the hell?" Casey said. "Tojo hasn't bothered with us in weeks, now we're back on the entertainment lineup?"

"They do this now and then if they have fuel left after their daily patrol," Greg said, seeing Kate's uncomprehending look. "Nothing like a little target practice on the way home."

The Zeroes swept in low and side by side, raking the beach and sending up spits of sand as the three of them sprinted out of the line of fire. The rounds bit into the palm trees, shredding fronds and stripping bark.

The planes swept over the base and circled for a second pass. Kate heard an explosion somewhere and the answering chatter of anti-aircraft fire as someone manned the guns.

She had endured having bombs dropped on her head during the Blitz but realized now that had been relatively impersonal. Crouching in an underground tube station while the German Luftwaffe emptied their bomber holds from 10,000 feet was one thing. Scrambling across an expanse of open beach while having the enemy firing at her from barely 200 feet off the ground was something else. Running in loose sand was a nightmare. Her feet couldn't get any purchase to accelerate.

The roar of the planes was deafening as they bore down. All around them, firepower pinged off rocks and sent up explosions of shattered driftwood. Greg threw an arm around her waist and dragged her down onto the sand. She landed hard and he covered her, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Casey hit the ground next to them as the Zeroes blasted overhead, strafing the beach with their lethal rain.

It was over in seconds, leaving shredded foliage and the smell of something burning nearby.

Greg scrambled to his feet and turned to watch as the planes faded into the distance. Kate rolled onto her back. She was light-headed, drawing air into empty lungs. Pain throbbed in her left wrist.

"You okay?" he asked, turning.

"No," Kate said. She sat up, cradling her left arm close to her chest. "I was thinking about getting shot, not tackled. I landed on my wrist. You're not exactly light."

Greg pulled her to her feet and looked at her wrist. It was already starting to swell and discolor.

"I don't think it's broken, just sprained," she said through clenched teeth. "But it hurts like hell."

"When I dream about the two of us on the beach, this is not how it ends," he said quietly, wrapping an arm around her. Kate smothered a grin in spite of the pain. Nearby, Casey was climbing to his feet. He pretended not to hear.

"I'll drive you to the hospital to get this checked out," Greg said. "Casey, keep working on Overton. We need those carbs."

"We heard the Zeroes," Dee said 15 minutes later as Kate sat on an exam table. Her wrist was turning varying shades of purple. Greg lounged against the wall. "I didn't know they were using you for target practice." She disappeared and returned with Dr. Jim Reese.

"Ya'll have all the fun over there," he said.

"In my book, fun generally doesn't hurt this much." Kate winced as he examined her wrist. An x-ray confirmed her self-diagnosis.

"Nothing broken, just a grade one sprain," Dr. Reese said. "I'll wrap it, then it's just a matter of letting it heal. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. Looks like you get some time off work." He looked at Kate. He looked at Greg.

"And I know you Black Sheep - make sure she puts the ice on her wrist, not in a glass."

Kate did both that evening.

 **XXX**

The next afternoon, she was in her tent, pecking irritably at her typewriter with her right hand, when Don stuck his head in.

"Hey Katie, Pappy wants to see us in the Sheep Pen."

Kate glanced at her watch, which she was now wearing on her right wrist to accommodate the snug compression wrap on her left. Her wrist only hurt if she tried to use that hand, which meant it had hurt constantly for the first 24 hours as she repeatedly forgot she shouldn't be using it. Another week of this was going to drive her mad. At least she was right handed so it wasn't a total inconvenience. The men had offered their help for anything she might need assistance with, including but not limited to undressing and showering. So far, she'd convinced them she was managing.

"Mission briefing already?" she asked, surprised.

"No, he's got something else going on, says we need to have a meeting of the minds."

Thankful for the distraction, she joined Don on the short walk to the Sheep Pen.

"How's the wrist?" he asked.

"Sore," she grumbled. "I can't hold my camera. I can't type. At least I'm right handed so I can still drink. That's about the only thing I _can_ do right now."

"It could be worse," Don said.

 **XXX**

They joined Greg and half a dozen of the Black Sheep for what Kate recognized as a council of war – one of the squadron's informal meetings that were held to address any business that needed to fly below official radar.

Their current black market deal had stalled out. It was a simple Scotch-for-carburetors exchange between the 214th and the Seabees on Rendova. The middleman was a Navy supply sergeant on Espritos named Overton. The Black Sheep would deliver their end of the bargain to him and the crates containing the parts would make a return flight the next day. It was a straight forward arrangement with remarkably none of the convoluted exchanges of freight all over the Solomons that typically marked the squadron's deals.

"Here's the problem," Casey said. "Overton insists we send someone to seal the deal face to face. He got screwed by a fast-talking Army shyster last time and now he doesn't trust anyone he can't see. If we don't get someone over there in the next 24 hours, he's gonna sell those carbs to the 182nd and leave us S.O.L. If we don't get those parts soon, there aren't going to be enough of our planes left to bother putting new ones in."

"None of us can go," Greg said, leaning on the table. "First, we don't have time. Second, we'd never get landing clearance and if Lard got a whiff of any of us landing anyway, we'd all end up in the brig. We need someone who can get over there and finesse the admin end of things . . . someone who doesn't have anything else to do right now."

He was smiling as his eyes locked on Kate's. She felt the familiar tumble in her stomach.

"Oh no," she said, backpedaling from her perch atop a table. "I am not getting in the middle of this! Absolutely - "

"It'll be an overnight trip," Greg said, ignoring the fact she was still protesting. "You'll take Thursday's transport, meet Overton, show him everything's on the up and up, supervise the unloading and loading, go have a nice dinner and a couple of drinks at the officer's club and fly back the next afternoon. What could go wrong?"

"What could go wrong?" Kate sputtered. "Let's start with the fact I'm a civilian! And I don't know anything about carburetors."

"You don't need to. You just need to be able to go head to head with Overton and I don't see that being a problem. You'll have to fit in as military personnel, though," Greg said thoughtfully. "We don't want you drawing any attention. Overton wouldn't listen to a civilian anyway."

"Stop it! I haven't agreed to any of this!"

Greg stepped to where she was seated and wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. Turning his back to the room, he bent his mouth to her ear.

"Do this for me, Kate, and I'll make it worth your time." He squeezed her arm gently, hand warm against her skin.

As if _that look_ hadn't been enough. His fingers sent heat ricocheting through her body. She gritted her teeth.

"Let's say I agree to do this, how am I supposed to convince a Navy supply sergeant to listen to me?"

"Sweetheart, between you and Overton, my money's on you."

Several of the Black Sheep voiced their agreement.

"What am I going to wear?" Kate said in exasperation. "I can't go dressed like this – " she waved a hand at her shorts and sleeveless shirt. "I don't have anything else!"

"Casey, take Cameron over to the hospital and talk to that little nurse of yours. She's got a vested interest in keeping your plane in the air. Tell her about our . . . situation . . . and see what she can come up with," Greg ordered. Looking at Kate, he added, "You're sister's already in the Army, how do you feel about joining the Navy? It will be a very temporary commission."

 **XXX**

"Ouch!" Kate yelped.

"Sorry," Dee muttered through a mouth full of pins. "Hold still."

"I am holding still. Aren't you done yet?"

Kate was standing on a low stool in Dee's quarters, drinking a beer, while her friend pinned a new hem into her borrowed skirt. Laura, the skirt's original owner and Kate's new wardrobe consultant, was also drinking a beer and enthusiastically coaching Kate on her new role.

"You took your nursing training at Mount Mercy College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. You worked at St. Luke's Hospital in Cedar Rapids before you signed up and went through basic at San Diego," Laura said. "You served on a hospital ship at Guadalcanal before being re-assigned to La Cava." She sipped her beer. "This is so exciting!"

"That's one word for it." Kate closed her eyes. "How did I let him talk me into this?"

"I think he could probably talk you into anything," Dee muttered around her pins. "Stop moving!"

Laura had been happy to loan Kate her identity as well as her uniform. For 24 hours, Kate would be Lieutenant Laura Halvorson from Morning Sun, Iowa. Both Laura and Dee thought the caper was insanely romantic. Kate just thought it was insane.

"You want me to impersonate an officer!" she had protested while Greg and Casey worked out the details. "What if I get caught?"

"I've seen you in action," Greg said. "You're not going to get caught at anything. Just walk in there with a smile and an attitude like usual and Overton doesn't stand a chance. We've done all the groundwork, you just have to be there to shake hands."

Kate suspected it was going to be slightly more complicated than that but she wasn't in any position to argue. He was right about one thing – her sprained wrist left her with too much time on her hands and she did not handle down time well. After 24 hours of forced inactivity, the trip to Espritos was almost starting to sound good.

"And don't keep telling me there's nothing going on between the two of you because I know there is," Dee said, taking the pins out of her mouth. "Casey told me about the night on the overlook."

"Yeah," Kate said, "he kinda told everybody. You'd think no one around here has ever made out in a jeep before."

"It really is entertaining, waiting to see what the two of you are going to do next," Dee said. "Look, the Black Sheep are generally all about the conquest when it comes to nurses, there's not a lot of long-term romance involved. Except for Larry," she amended. "But Greg hasn't looked at another girl since you showed up and the two of you haven't even . . . ." She looked up, questioning. "Have you?"

"Be careful where you're waving those pins," Kate said, deliberately not answering the implied question. "And I don't know why you feel compelled to keep track of where I'm sleeping."

"Because the two of you are just so . . ." Dee paused, searching for words. " . . . damn perfect for each other. There's no stopping either one of you when you get an idea in your head. I've never seen either of you back down from a fight. And you're just as bad as he is when it comes to, um, creative problem solving that falls outside the rules."

"Plus the man is gorgeous and he wants you and the age difference makes it even hotter," Laura added. "I don't know how you've stayed out of his bed this long."

"It hasn't been for lack of trying," Kate muttered.

"Honestly, Kate, Larry says he's never seen Greg spend so much time with a girl beyond . . . partying and . . . you know," Dee said. "That's what's got everyone talking – the fact that you're not just the flavor of the week."

"Larry says too much." Kate rolled her eyes but Dee had a point. She and Greg were spending a lot of time together for no other reason except that they enjoyed each other's company. Life with the Black Sheep went on with its usual mix of antics and off-color teasing, but he deliberately made time with her that had nothing to do with either her writing or squadron business.

They walked on the beach, throwing sticks for Meatball, and Jim pointed out their nightcaps had become as predictable as a German train schedule. She tried playing poker with him again and actually won a hand after she propped her legs up on a nearby chair and pretty much short-circuited the entire table. Greg had retaliated by fixing her with such a smoking look that she lost the next three hands straight before giving up.

Dee put a final pin in the hem.

"Does that look even?" she asked Laura, who nodded in affirmation. "Okay, take it off. I'll get it hemmed tonight."

Kate stepped off the stool and slid out of the skirt. Dee surveyed her.

"I don't suppose you own a slip? Or any decent stockings?"

Kate shook her head. She was starting to think the most complicated part of this enterprise was going to just be getting off La Cava.

 **XXX**

After living in loose-fitting shorts and shirts for weeks, it took a while to adjust to the snug feel of a uniform but Laura assured her she looked stunning in it. Kate barely recognized her reflection in the mirror after Ellen wrestled her hair into a tight knot and set a cap on her head. She was as spit and polish groomed as Dee, Laura and Ellen could make her. The three girls were still coaching her on posture and decorum when Greg picked her up at the back door to the nurses' quarters.

"You owe me for this," she said, stepping into the jeep.

He traced a scalding look up and down her figure. "You should have considered joining up sooner, that uniform looks good on you."

"I just hope I'm not wearing it straight into the brig or wherever they throw correspondents who impersonate officers," she said.

He walked her out to the transport, carrying her bag. A few members of the squadron were there under the guise of offering moral support.

"Just be yourself, Lieutenant Halvorson," Greg said. "You'll be great."

"Anything for you, Boyington." Kate realized Dee was probably right – the man could talk her into doing anything.

"Promise?" He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was rough kiss and it caught Kate off guard. By unspoken accord, the two of them had made it a point to avoid public displays of affection and since the night on the overlook, they'd barely exchanged as much as a casual touch. Kate didn't care to put her feelings on display in front of the men, largely because she was having more than a little trouble keeping them under rein even when he wasn't touching her.

Now, she wrapped her arms around his back and returned the embrace with as much heat as it was given. There was a good deal of hooting and cheering from assembled Black Sheep. She was slightly dizzy when they broke apart and, she realized, not even self-conscious.

"Promise," she managed, gasping for breath.

Greg tossed her bag to an enlisted man waiting in the plane's doorway, then handed her up the steps and said, "See you tomorrow afternoon, Lieutenant."

 **XXX**

"I ain't dealin' with no dame."

Supply sergeant Eugene Overton crossed his beefy arms and glared at her. "I don't care if Boyington put his gold plated seal of approval on your ass, you ain't in charge of this here operation. If one of them boys can't get over here, the deal's off."

Clearly, Greg had neglected to tell Overton that the person coming to finalize the deal was of the female persuasion. She suspected this omission might have been on purpose. Well, she supposed, the element of surprise was usually a good way to knock the odds in her favor and she'd definitely caught the sergeant off guard when she walked into the supply depot on Espritos. His expression had gone from surprise to a condescension to leering belligerence in a matter of minutes. It was now wavering between the latter two.

She glanced beyond Overton's considerable bulk to where several clerks were watching their exchange with interest.

Beaming, she said, "Tell you what, Sergeant, let's go for a walk, just you and me, and discuss our situation." She slipped her arm through his and drew him out the door of the office. Overton protested but could hardly make too much of a fuss under the watchful eyes of the clerks. They stepped outside and strolled a few yards along a neatly graveled path to the shade of a palm tree.

Once they were out of earshot of the clerks and any passersby, Kate rounded on him.

"Do you see these, Sergeant?" She tapped the insignia on her collar, her tone icy.

Overton shifted uncomfortably. The only thing worse than dealing with a woman in the first place was dealing with a woman who was about to pull rank on him.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I believe my bars outrank your stripes, so let me tell you what's going to happen next. We're going to get in that jeep over there and drive back out to the airstrip and I'm going to watch you unload that Scotch and do whatever it is you do with it. Then you're going to have those carbs loaded on that C-47 by 1500 hours tomorrow. All of that whisky had better be where it belongs when the Seabees come looking for it –," she paused, then went on, " _all_ of it, Sergeant, not just most of it. You got that? Or I'm going to tell Major Boyington that you couldn't keep your hands off my gold plated ass and then he's going to fly over here and use you for a punching bag."

Overton paled. He was clearly familiar with Greg's operating procedure but he was still balking at being told what to do by a woman. He drug a foot through the gravel, stalling.

Kate tapped her watch.

"Sergeant, I just came off two month's duty at a front area hospital. Believe me when I say I have better things to do than stand here arguing with you. Every minute you spend flapping your gums is going to cost you a bottle." She checked her watch. "You're already down one bottle that you're going to have to explain. Shall we make it two? Then you can explain _that_ as well when the Seabees come up short."

Overton realized he was outclassed. He thought it might have been easier to deal with Boyington. This girl scared him a little.

"No, ma'am," he said resignedly. "Let's go."

 **XXX**

Kate was looking forward to dinner more than she realized. The promise of food that hadn't been dehydrated, powdered or tinned at some point before arriving on her plate was beyond enticing. She'd found her quarters, freshened up and arrived at the officer's club at the height of the evening crush. Conversation hummed and cutlery clinked against china as a four-piece jazz ensemble played in a corner. Oddly enough, she found herself missing evening mess with the Black Sheep.

She had been seated by the head waiter and was enjoying a glass of excellent merlot, lost in thought, when a man's voice said, "Excuse me, Lieutenant? I see we're both dining alone and since it's quite crowded in here, I wondered if you would care to share a table?"

Startled, she looked up. The man had pale blue eyes, a bald pate and the thickening body that comes with too many years of desk duty but he carried himself ramrod straight and the creases in his uniform trousers were knife sharp.

Kate sighed inwardly. As much as she'd hoped for a quiet dinner by herself, she knew it was inevitable that a woman dining alone in an officer's club wouldn't stay that way for long. It might be better to accept the company of someone higher up the food chain – she noticed the eagle on his collar – who would be content to chat about his wife and kids back in the states instead of leaving herself open to assault by younger men who were looking for more than just a dinner companion.

"Company would be lovely." She smiled. "Please, join me."

"Thank you." The man stuck out his hand in greeting. "I'm Colonel Thomas Lard."


	22. Chapter 22

_"What's so great about daylight? Some of the best times I've ever had were in the dark." Greg Boyington (Flying Misfits)_

 **Chapter 22**

 _Oh holy shit._

"Lieutenant Laura Halvorson," Kate answered smoothly, amazed at how easily the deception rolled off her tongue as she shook Lard's hand. Two months of living with the Black Sheep had given her skills she didn't know she had.

Lard settled himself across from her.

"I don't believe I've seen you here before, are you new to Espritos?" he asked, summoning a waiter.

"I'm stationed at the hospital on La Cava." Kate reminded herself to keep breathing. _Just holy shit._ Under the litany of things that could go wrong she had protested to Greg, this had never come up.

The waiter arrived.

"I'll have a Scotch," Lard ordered, "and whatever the lieutenant would like."

 _The lieutenant would like to get the hell out of here_ , Kate thought. She smiled pleasantly and ordered another glass of wine.

"How long have you been on La Cava?"

Kate took a deep breath and forced herself to relax into the small talk.

"A couple of months, not long, really."

He indicated the wrap on her left arm.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Took a tumble and sprained my wrist." Kate laughed it off. "That's why I'm here, just a little down time to heal."

The waiter brought their drinks and took their dinner orders.

"If you've been on La Cava for two months, you would have arrived about the same time as K.C. Cameron, the AP correspondent stationed there," Lard said. "Have you ever run into him?"

Kate let her eyes grow wide.

"Oh, yes, sir. He's been at the hospital a lot, interviewing some of the wounded who came in off the Lexington and of course, the Black Sheep. They fly such dangerous missions, they're always getting hurt."

"Yes. The Black Sheep." Lard set his glass down a little harder than Kate thought necessary.

"Tell me, what's Cameron like?" Lard continued. "His writing certainly seems to be popular."

"Oh, he's very thorough, sir. He spent a lot of time at the hospital, talking to the pilots," Kate said. "He struck me as someone who doesn't let much get in the way of his job."

 _Although this is not the job I signed up for._ She forced herself to sip the wine slowly. Greg was going to pay for this when she got back to La Cava.

"Do you know how he's getting along with Major Boyington?"

"Major Boyington, sir?"

"Yes, Major Greg Boyington, of the 214th, surely you've met him by now."

"Oh, yes, sir, I met him at a party with some of the other nurses." Kate lowered her eyes. She didn't need to give away just how well she'd met him. "He's very charming. He and Cameron seemed to hit it off." She lowered her voice. "I think Cameron drinks a bit much, but a lot of those newspaper people do, you know."

"Yes, well, he would get along fine with Boyington, then."

The waiter reappeared, bearing plates of food. Kate took advantage of the brief lull to redirect the conversation.

"I'd heard so much about the Black Sheep, it's been delightful to meet them. Everything K.C. Cameron writes about them is true. And they throw the most fabulous parties."

She thought Lard was going to choke on his salad.

"Don't you find his reporting to be a little . . . optimistic?" the colonel asked.

"In what way, sir?"

"I know for a fact every man in that unit has been up on charges more than once and Boyington doesn't bother with anything resembling discipline. They're rogues and scoundrels, the lot of them, him included. They break regulations like there's no tomorrow but Cameron's stories make it sound like they bleed red, white and blue."

"Don't they have the best combat record in the theatre?" Kate's face was a study in innocence. "Surely that speaks for itself."

"You seem to be awfully familiar with the Black Sheep, Lieutenant."

"A friend of mine is dating one of them and I visit the base with her sometimes," Kate replied airily. "I've gotten to know the squadron fairly well. Don't you think men in front area units may find it necessary to bend the rules from time to time, for the greater good?"

"The 214th is in the habit of bending rules until they break."

"Given their kill ratio, maybe it would be wiser for you to look the other way when it comes to regulations."

Lard eyed her. For a heartbeat, Kate thought she had overplayed her hand. Then he chuckled.

"You young nurses are such romantics. I'm sure the Black Sheep seem very dashing but let me assure you, Lieutenant, they are nothing but trouble and Boyington is their ringleader. You'd be wise to keep your distance from the lot of them, no matter how charming you may find them."

 _It's a little late for that,_ Kate thought.

Talk turned to more general topics and she asked a series of questions about current campaigns in the South Pacific.

"Really, Lieutenant, if you ever give up nursing, you'd have a great career in the press corps," Lard said at the conclusion of the meal.

"Oh don't be silly," Kate returned, patting her mouth with the linen napkin. "What girl in her right mind would want to do that?"

When Lard asked if she cared to join him for an after-dinner drink in the bar, she decided she'd pressed her luck far enough and begged off. He thanked her for her gracious dinner company and she walked back to her quarters through the gathering twilight.

 **XXX**

Greg, Hutch and Meatball were waiting when the C-47 taxied to a stop.

"How'd it go?" Greg met her at the bottom of the steps. Hutch was practically jumping up and down, trying to see if there was a crate of carburetors on the transport.

"Do you want the short version or the long version?" Kate asked.

"I want the complete version."

"That's going to take a while." She looked at Hutch. "Short version, the carbs are in there." Turning to Greg, she said, "Long version, I had dinner with Colonel Lard last night."

"You did _what_?"

He grabbed her arm and stopped her in mid-stride.

"Which one of you? K.C. or Lieutenant Halvorson?"

"Lieutenant Halvorson was advised that the Black Sheep are nothing but trouble and a nice girl like her should stay away from all of them in general and you in particular." Her grin sparkled. Greg didn't let go of her arm.

"Did you tell him it was too late for that?"

"No. I didn't think he wanted to hear it."

"I can't wait to hear the whole story."

Kate looked around. "Where is everyone?" The base was unusually quiet for early evening.

"Down at the beach. The guys spent the afternoon building the mother of all bonfires. We don't have a mission tomorrow so they thought a party was in order. I think the entire bar inventory from the Sheep Pen is down there already."

"I need to get out of this uniform, then let's go," she said. "I'm only telling this story once and you owe me a drink. Or two." The look on her face made it clear she intended to collect on her debt.

He drove her to her tent, carried her bag inside and dropped it. He was still enjoying the sight of her in that uniform. She had an aura of quiet intensity when she was dressed in casual clothes. Put her in a uniform and she was positively dangerous. He wondered what was left of Overton. Hell, he wondered what was left of Lard. He wished he could have seen _that_.

"I need to change," she said over her shoulder, hands already on the zipper of her skirt.

"I know."

"You need to leave."

"No."

She pinned him with a smoky glare.

"Turn around, Boyington."

He turned around and fixed his eyes on the tent ceiling. Behind him, he could hear the thud of pumps being kicked off. The slow buzz of a zipper being drawn down was followed by the rustle of fabric as she slid out of the skirt.

Then she was undoing the buttons on her shirt with brisk efficiency. He didn't know buttons could be so loud. The swish of the blouse dropping onto her bunk echoed like a drum. There was a secondary swish and something silky sailed over a chair in his peripheral vision. A slip?

"Did you guys go up this morning?"

Her bunk creaked. She must be sitting on the edge to roll down her stockings. The thought of her unhooking garters and rolling silk slowly down those legs was almost too much. He had to fight not to look over his shoulder. He jerked his mind back to her question.

"Yes. it was a milk run of a bomber escort for the 182nd. Aren't you dressed yet?"

He knew she wasn't, even as he asked. She had to be wearing next to nothing now, only a foot or two behind him and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. He caught the scent of her skin on the warmth of the evening air. Soap. Lotion. That undefinable scent that was Kate.

"No, I'm not. And do not turn around – I'm starting to think Lard was right – you're nothing but trouble." He could hear the undercurrent of laughter in her voice.

"You're a fine one to talk."

Her feet crossed to the trunk where she kept her clothes. More rustling, then the sound of cloth being pulled over bare skin. He could envision that skin, the flat plane of her belly, the curve of breast and hip. Finally, the cot creaked as she sat again.

"Okay, you can turn back," she said. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt now, lacing up her boots, hair caught into a loose tail that tumbled over her shoulders. If she had any idea the torment the last few minutes had caused him, she didn't act like it.

"Paybacks are hell, Cameron," he said softly.

"Then let's go." She gave him a look that left him wondering exactly which of them was going to be doing the paying back.

 **XXX**

Greg was right. It was the mother of all bonfires, a heaping pile of driftwood that defied several engineering principles. It appeared everyone from the base and at least half the nurses from the hospital were there. The Black Sheep all wanted to hear about her adventure and she made sure Dee, Laura and Ellen were recognized for their contributions to the escapade.

"I might as well go straight to Hollywood – I've got a wardrobe consultant, a hair stylist, a seamstress and more acting coaches than I know what to do with," she said, hugging all three of them. "I couldn't have done it without you."

There was a great deal of cheering when she related the part about suggesting to Lard that he get off the Black sheep's collective ass about regulations. Kate produced the bottle of Scotch she'd relieved Overton of and made sure the mechanics got the first toast. Then someone set a torch to the bonfire and any serious element of the evening literally went up in flames.

The sun was almost down as the revelers grouped around the fire, sharing a series of communal bottles. Kate had finished replaying her conversation with Lard for the tenth time and talk had turned to the relative value of 12 year old Scotch versus Australian wine when Greg slid an arm around her waist.

"Come with me," he said softly. The look on his face left no room for argument.

Without talking, they got into a jeep, leaving the bonfire behind. He drove along the beach to a small cove on the north end of the island. It was a part of the island where Kate had never been but she recognized it as lying directly below the overlook where they'd parked to watch the sunset. Rock walls rose on three sides and a fringe of jungle edged the white sand beach. The western sky was a study in pastels as the sun lowered into the Pacific. Getting out of the jeep, Greg tossed her a blanket.

"You built your own fire," she said, spreading the blanket out on the sand.

He had. A much more subtle version of the Black Sheep's massive pile of driftwood awaited a match.

"I didn't plan on us spending the night with that bunch of rogues and scoundrels, sweetheart."

She watched as the sun slid below the horizon, leaving the sky streaked with lavender and orange. She heard the crackle of flames as the driftwood caught, then warm arms wrapped around her. She leaned back into the embrace, savoring the solid heat of him.

"I missed you, Cameron, it wasn't the same here without you here."

"I wasn't gone that long. What did you miss most?"

He led her back to the blanket and drew her down next to him. At some point, he'd taken off his boots. She unlaced her own, tossed them aside and gazed into the flames. The firelight sent shadows dancing across the sand.

"What did I miss most?" His lips brushed her ear and heat sparked through her. "Watching you. Watching you get into impossible situations and walk out like nothing happened." He chuckled. "Twelve hundred men stationed on that base and you end up having dinner with Colonel Lard. And then you have the brass to tell him to get off our case about regulations? Kate, you are unbelievable."

"I'm not always good at keeping my mouth shut when I should," she said.

"That's just one of the things I like about you."

"Really? What else do you like about me?"

He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her to him. She yielded to his kiss, letting him pull her down onto the blanket. Every nerve in her body ignited as she yielded to the demand of his mouth. Time slowed, measured only by the snap of logs in the fire. His touch was as intoxicating as wine. His lips grazed her neck to the hollow of her collarbone, lingered, returned to her mouth. Warm fingers stroked her belly as he slid a hand under her shirt. She met his eyes, drowning pools of blue in the firelight.

"I've wanted to make love to you since that night when I picked you up out of the mud." His voice was low.

"What took you so long?"

He laughed and she drank in the angles of his face, remembering the night they met, remembering not being prepared for the impact of him in her life.

"Nineteen other guys taking bets on who you were going to sleep with, my executive officer who couldn't keep his hands off you, the damned Japanese air force trying to kill me every day and you're asking what took me so long?"

"No more excuses . . ."

He took her mouth again, long deep kisses that left her powerless. She didn't resist when he pulled the T-shirt over her head. Her heart was racing as he slid the straps of her bra over her shoulders, then one-handedly unhooked the clasp and tugged the lacy fabric out of the way. He cupped her breasts and she pressed against the rough heat of his hands, gasping as his thumbs traced her nipples.

"You wanted slow? This is just the beginning, sweetheart," he said.

There had been a number of times in Kate's life when reality had fallen far short of fantasy. This wasn't one of them. Every kiss, every touch, delivered on a promise that had been building for weeks. She'd been with other men before - okay, not that many - but none of them had ever treated her body with such a deliberate mix of pleasure and demand. She let her hands explore the clean lines of him, all muscle and heat against her. The more she gave him, the more he gave back.

Her fingers worked open the buttons on his shirt, tugged it loose from his trousers. He took it off and pulled her to him. The feel of his bare skin on hers fueled her arousal. His heartbeat was steady against her hands, a counterpoint to her own racing pulse.

His fingers teased under the waistband of her shorts, then undid the button. He was sliding the zipper down when she caught his hand.

"I've never . . ." She stopped, suddenly hesitant.

"Never what?"

"Done this outdoors."

"Is that a problem?" He heard her uncertainty.

"No . . . but . . . it's not like we can lock the door." They didn't have the best track record when it came to privacy.

"No one is going to interrupt us."

"You sound pretty sure."

"I am sure. I told Casey if anyone got in our way tonight, they'd go three rounds with me. Or you."

She laughed, a little shaky, and kissed him in answer.

He helped her out of her shorts, then drew off her panties, his eyes never leaving her face. His fingers traced the shadows playing across her skin and time dissolved into firelight and sensation. She wrapped herself around him and pressed him flat against the blanket, reveling in the touch of his hands against her bare back and hips. Stradling him, she unhooked his belt and slowly unzipped his pants, smiling as she felt his heart rate finally quicken.

She rolled onto her stomach while he pulled off trousers and shorts. The sight of him nude in the firelight took her breath away. Time simply stopped.

His mouth was on hers as he slid his hand across her belly and between her thighs, a choreography of fingers against skin that left her trembling. He was barely touching her as her need crested and she pressed herself against his hand, slick with wanting.

"Please," she whispered.

"Anything for you, Cameron."

He entered her with deliberate slowness and she arched up to meet him, gasping, body tense.

"All right?" His mouth was against her ear.

"Yes." She shifted under him, breathless. Then, with more certainty, "Yes." She relaxed as he eased deeper into her. The muscles of his back were tight under her hands, the metal of his dog tags pressed warm between her breasts.

She felt like she'd been made for him, her curves matching his hard muscle. She wrapped her legs around him, answering his demands with her own, obliterating any conscious thought. She felt their mutual urgency building and intentionally shifted the rhythm.

"Slow, remember?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"God, Kate, you're killing me."

Even slower, he was incinerating her, urging her higher and harder with every passing second, driving her toward oblivion. His mouth was buried against her neck. She could hear his breathing, ragged now, matching her own.

She rode the sensation, letting it lift her until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. When it burned into a white hot inferno, she bucked up hard under him, driving him as deep as she could, her nails digging into his back as she cried out.

As the climax pounded through her, she felt the power of his own release building and matched his tempo, unable to resist. He drove her hips down against the blanket, unyielding, even as her body shuddered with pleasure under him.

The beach disappeared in mist, the fire faded to embers. She was unable to move, captured in the web of heat from his body. She tangled her fingers in his hair and drew him down for one last kiss. He shifted off her and pulled her into his arms. She rested her head on his chest as the breeze licked across her sweaty skin.

"Are you breathing?" he asked.

"Barely. That's the last time I ever tell you I like something slow," she said.

"You liked it, admit it." She could hear the smile in his voice.

She rolled up on an elbow.

"I more than liked it," she said softly.

"That was obvious. You realize most of the men think you're going to be the death me."

She laughed.

"I don't think you're in any danger."

"You can tell them that."

"I'm not telling them anything! They can figure it out for themselves."

"I'm sure they will."

A log shifted in the fire, sending a shower of embers flaring on the breeze. He caught her hand, pressing it against his chest. She curled against him, drinking in his scent.

"Do you want to go back to the bonfire?" he asked after a few minutes.

"No."

"Do you want to go back to the base?"

"No."

"Are you trying to be difficult or does it come naturally?"

She laughed.

"Can we just stay here? For a while?"

"There's another blanket in the jeep, if you're cold." He started to get up.

"I'll get it." Kate rose. She looked around. The soft glow of the firelight illuminated bits of clothing strewn across the blanket and nearby sand. She wasn't comfortable enough yet with the whole naked-outdoors concept to think walking around totally bare assed was a good idea. Shaking out the first shirt she saw- his - she pulled it on. She couldn't find any of her clothes.

"Boyington? What did you do with my panties?"

"Why?" he said. "You're not going to need them tonight."

She wrapped his shirt around her and studied him, dark hair windblown, firelight etching shadows across his body. That look.

Oh yeah. Paybacks were gonna be hell.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

 _(Editor's note: the Dogs For Defense training grounds at Cat Island, Miss., was real. Dogs were trained there for use in tropical environments during World War II. The base was later closed and through the following decades, the military's K9 program was centralized at Lackland Air Force Base. If I understand correctly, today, all of the military working dogs used by the United States armed forces are trained there.)_

 **XXX**

" _Sometimes you fall in love with the most unexpected person at the most unexpected time."_

Hutch had taken advantage of the squadron's off-day to do some much needed engine maintenance. At his request, Greg had rousted the Black Sheep out of their bunks to assist with installing the new carburetors. That had not been an undertaking for the faint of heart. Getting the Black Sheep to do anything resembling manual labor was hard enough on a good day and nearly impossible on the day after a party. A great deal of grumbling ensued.

The degree of assistance they provided varied with their degree of hangover but Greg assured them that sweating the alcohol out of their systems was the best cure. This advice was not generally well received, given that the beach party had raged on into the early hours of the morning, with a number of the boys staggering back to the base at sunrise to collapse in their bunks. A lucky few woke up in more comfortable accommodations at the nurse's quarters but were still disinclined to jump headlong into a hard day's work.

Kate was balanced atop a ladder, covered in sweat and engine oil. She hadn't found the work any more appealing than the first time she'd done it but after last night, she desperately needed something to keep herself occupied. The work was doing a fine job of keeping her hands busy but her mind tended to wander.

There had been no morning-after awkwardness when she'd woken in Greg's arms before dawn, just a mutual reluctance to leave the solitude of the beach and return to the base. She had curled against him, studying him as he slept, until she couldn't stand it any more and kissed him.

"Morning, Cameron," he'd said, shifting to return the kiss at a more advantageous angle.

"Morning, Boyington."

"Find your panties yet?" His hand slid down to her bare hip.

"Haven't looked."

By the time they returned to the base, Kate had lost any inhibition she might have felt about being bare assed naked outdoors.

Greg had dropped her off at her tent with a scalding kiss and no apologies to anyone who might have been awake at that hour to watch. And of course there'd been men awake. French and Boyle even managed a round of applause as they walked by, in spite of their clearly hungover state.

Enjoying the illusion of privacy in her tent, Kate realized that the constant scrutiny of her relationship with Greg, which had bothered her to no end before she even knew they had a relationship, had evaporated into a non-issue. Trying to keep anything secret on this base practically guaranteed it would be common knowledge within hours, and she decided to embrace the inevitable.

By merit of being part of the squadron, Kate found herself privy to insider information about the boys' nocturnal activities and figured, with a sigh, they probably thought they were just as entitled to hers. It was no secret she and Greg had slipped away from the bonfire last night. She was pretty sure everyone there had marked their departure. It was no secret that they hadn't come back to the base until this morning. And while what they'd done in between was no doubt going to be the subject of lengthy discussion by the Black Sheep, Kate privately thought they wouldn't stand a chance of coming close to the dazzling reality.

"If we had, you'd remember," he'd told her the morning after Don's party. Oh yeah. She'd remember, all right. All she had to do was close her eyes and images of him in the firelight sent a warm flush rising up from her core.

When Greg asked if she would help him on the flight line, she'd welcomed the chance to do something with him that was unlikely to reduce her to a pile of ash. Not that she had minded him repeatedly reducing her to a pile of ash the night before but she desperately needed to get her emotions under control before she had to interact with him in close proximity to the rest of the squadron. Spontaneously combusting as the result of a smile during a briefing or a meal was likely to draw attention.

Knowing the Black Sheep, they were going to have a field day with this. Once they'd decided she wasn't going to sleep with any of them, they'd whole heartedly thrown their support behind Greg, obviously enjoying the unlikely pairing of their leader with a 22-year-old member of the press corps – an entity Greg had professed to have no use for long before she'd ever arrived on La Cava.

They had teased both of them endlessly since he'd made his intentions clear at Don's party and Kate didn't see that stopping now. In fact, she figured it was only likely to get worse. Boys would be boys. It was like having 19 brothers - brothers who were a complete pain in the ass and didn't hesitate to ask whatever was on their mind. And she knew exactly what would be on their mind. She'd girded her proverbial loins before heading to the flight line.

Short of digging latrines, helping install new carburetors was probably the least romantic thing Kate could think of. Her wrist had healed to the point that she could use both hands again and the work should have effectively reduced her to dirt, sweat and sore muscles. Just when she thought she had both her mind and body under control, Greg completely short-circuited both by pulling her into his arms and kissing her when she turned to ask him a question.

"Cameron, you are beautiful," he said quietly, his mouth lingering against hers. He left her speechless. It was one thing to have him tell her that when she was wearing nothing more than shadows and firelight. It was another entirely to have him say it when she was a sweat-soaked mess, having just climbed out of a Corsair engine. No man had ever said anything like that to her before.

After that, she gave up. He could wreak havoc with her body with the slightest touch and clearly her mind wasn't safe either. She only hoped she was having the same effect on him. While she was still a firm believer in no overt public displays of affection, if her leg happened to bump his thigh or her hand happened to brush his hip by accident, well, there was no law against that, was there?

She was perched atop the ladder, waiting for Greg to come back with a different wrench, when she overheard TJ grumbling as he and Jim walked by.

"How can he be so damned cheerful today?"

"If you'd spent all night doing what they did, you'd be cheerful, too," Jim muttered. "I'm surprised either one of them can even – "

Kate cleared her throat. Jim looked up at her. She gave him her most innocent smile. Here it comes, she thought.

Jim paused at the foot of her ladder, a smile breaking over his own face.

"Hello, darlin'. You're looking remarkably . . . ," his eyes played over her filthy countenance, " . . . lovely . . . this afternoon. Sleeping in the fresh air seems to agree with you. Or not sleeping, as the case may be. Wanna tell us about it?"

"No." She kept smiling.

"Aww, c'mon, you've got his fingerprints all over you, darlin'. We'd love to hear more." Jim was enjoying himself.

"Ladies don't kiss and tell," Kate said.

"That's fine," Jim countered. "Skip the kissing and tell us about everything else."

"Not a chance, Gutterman."

"Katie, do us a big favor and take it easy on Pappy," TJ said. "You know he's not as young as he used to be and you're, well . . . ."

"I'm _what_?" Kate said, exasperated. "Tell me, does he look any worse for the wear?"

"Does who look any worse for the wear?" Greg appeared around the wing.

"Your pilots are harassing me," she said, trying – and failing – to look offended.

"It's a specialty of theirs," Greg handed her the wrench.

"He looks pretty lively to me," T.J. said.

"What were you expecting?" Greg pinned him with a glare. TJ started to say something and apparently thought better of it, then broke into a grin.

"Um, Greg? What happened to your back?"

Greg had taken off his T-shirt and had been working bare chested. Privately, she thought this was more to make her crazy than because of the heat but either way, the results were the same. Multiple sets of fingernail scratches were clearly visible across his upper back. She really hadn't meant to do that but, well . . . She bit her lip.

"What I want to know is how – " Jim began.

Greg cut him off.

"Really Jim, if you don't know how it works by now, there's no hope for you. Don't the two of you have something to do?"

Kate worked the wrench onto the bolt and thought about how horribly dull her life had been before she took this assignment.

 **XXX**

As Kate walked into Dee's quarters late that afternoon, she thanked God her friend had high enough rank to merit a private room, not the communal dorm shared by many of the nurses.

"You're a mess," Dee said, looking her up and down. "Don't sit on anything and don't touch anything, just go straight to the shower. Then we'll talk."

Kate knew what she wanted to talk about.

"No we won't," she called over her shoulder.

Dee wasn't about to let her off that easy.

"Of course we're going to talk about it," she said, as soon as Kate returned, clean and damp.

"No. We aren't." Kate toweled off her hair. "Because if I tell you anything, Casey will make you tell him and the Black Sheep will make him tell them, and then I have to sit across from Gutterman at breakfast and know that he knows things he doesn't have any business knowing. It's enough that they know we spent the night together on the beach. I'm sure they can figure it out from there."

Dee opened a beer and handed it to her.

"What? Now you think you can get me drunk and I'll tell you?" Kate grinned, taking a sip. "Try again."

"Don't you think Greg has already told them?" Dee said, opening a beer for herself. "Guys talk about that sort of thing. And those guys _really_ talk about that sort of thing."

Kate paused. No, she didn't think he had told them. He hadn't talked about the night after Don's party when she'd fallen asleep in his bed or the time they'd spent together on the overlook. She was sure of it because the Black Sheep still kept trying to ask sneaky questions to catch them both out. If they already knew, they'd leave it alone. More or less. They tended to be content once they'd gleaned every possible juicy detail from a situation, then their focus shifted to whoever's tryst presented itself next.

That was one of the things she really liked about Greg. He didn't deny that she had slept in his tent or that they'd made out in the jeep but he hadn't given the men explicit detail, either, in spite of their constant questions. He might be a rogue and a scoundrel but, at least when it came to what happened between the two of them, he guarded her privacy.

Dee was looking at her expectantly.

"Oh all right." Kate felt heat rising up through her again at the thought of his touch. "It was incredible. He was incredible."

Dee brightened.

"Thought so. You're glowing."

"Am I? It's warm in here," Kate muttered. "That's all I'm telling you. You're just as nosy as the rest of them." She ran a comb through her hair and gathered up her shower things.

"Are you falling in love with him?"

The question caught Kate totally off guard. Slowly, she lowered her shower bucket and turned to Dee.

"I . . . we didn't . . . I don't know." Neither of them had said the words last night. She hadn't expected it. In fact, she'd been relieved when he hadn't said it. It was too soon. She thought saying "I love you" after making love was a good thing only if it had been said earlier, in a context totally away from the bedroom. Or beach, as the case might be. Otherwise it became rather obligatory and somehow, she thought, meaningless. She'd been in love before, or she thought she had. Men had told her they loved her. She'd said it back, thought she meant it, but the words had always rung empty when those men inevitably faded from her life.

She looked at Dee.

"I haven't thought about it . . .why?"

"Because I think he's in love with you, whether he knows it or not."

Kate sipped her beer and looked out the window. She felt her damp hair pressing against the back of her T-shirt, leaving a wet spot on the fabric between her shoulders.

"What makes you say that?" Her heart was pounding. She really _hadn't_ thought about it. On purpose. Love made things complicated and a relationship with a 35-year-old fighter pilot in the middle of a war was complicated enough. She'd had his body and it had been beyond spectacular. The thought of having his heart as well was almost more than she could bear, even if a tiny little voice in the back of her mind was warning her that he was already cradling hers.

"Oh for the love of God, Kate, are you dense?" Dee shoved her dark hair off her face. "I know the way the Black Sheep treat women and trust me, that's not the way he treats you. I know how those guys and the nurses use each other, it works both ways. But whatever's going on between the two of you is real. You're not just a temporary plaything. Plus he can't stand the press corps and now you're practically walking on water where he's concerned, plus he trusts you enough to send you off to handle the squadron's black market deals. I'm telling you Kate, the man is in love with you."

"Honestly, I . . . I never thought about it."

"Do you ever _let_ yourself think about it?" Dee's face was a study in exasperation.

"Dee, what - ?"

"Because ever since Andrew Butler, you won't put yourself out there for anyone to love. Your body, yes, your heart, no."

"Maybe there's a reason!" Kate snapped. "I'm not in a hurry to have my heart ripped into little pieces again. I thought wht I had with Andrew was real and that sure as hell didn't work."

Dee sighed.

"Do you remember your first time?" she asked. "You know, the first time you slept with a man?"

Kate stared at her, her mind reeling at her friend's 180-degree shift in subject. She raised her eyebrows.

" _What?_ Yeah. Kind of. I wasn't really sober. Which in hindsight was probably a good thing. It was during the Blitz. Why in the world are you asking about that now?"

"Because the first time generally isn't the best experience, is it? I _was_ sober, God help me – but here's my point - we both did it again anyway, right? With other guys. Well, not a _lot_ of other guys. We didn't just stop after the first time and say never again. I think that's how falling in love works. Sometimes it hurts and it doesn't end the way you want but you try again anyway, you don't just stop letting yourself love. And then one day you realize you're in love with the right guy, who loves you back."

Kate drained her beer. She couldn't deny Greg's impact in her life. The man had turned a standard correspondent's assignment into something beyond her wildest dreams. What the hell was she thinking, falling in love in the middle of a war? And with a man 13 years older than her who spent nearly every single day trying not to get killed? This set off a whole tangle of emotions she was not prepared to deal with.

"Damnit. Just call me Scarlett, I'll think about it tomorrow," she said. She gathered up her things and walked to the door. "I'm going to use the squadron's showers next time. The only thing they ever ask is if I need help washing my back."

 **XXX**

 _Dear Sarah,_

Kate put down her pen. She had no idea where to start. She picked it back up, studied the shadows her desk lamp cast onto the paper.

 _I wish I could see you and tell you everything that is happening in my life and hear about everything that is happening in yours. Have I told you how proud I am of you for joining up? Only a hundred times? Make it 101. Dogs for Defense will be an even better program with you as part of it. You always had such a gift with our dogs at home._

 _There are so many things I want to tell you about my assignment here. There are so many things I want to tell you about Greg but this letter is not the place. We are enjoying each other's . . . company . . . more than ever. He is the most remarkable man I have ever met, on so many different levels. You won't believe what he talked me into doing for the squadron last week. It is not a story to be put in print. How I wish you could meet him._

 _Dee asked me if I love him. I think she missed her calling by becoming a nurse, she would have been a brilliant journalist. Oh Sarah, love makes everything so complicated. It should be so easy to say you love someone when you're in the middle of a war and there's no guarantee of tomorrow. I mean, why wait? What if you don't get that tomorrow to tell them? But loving someone means letting them take your heart with them wherever they go. Sometimes I think the choice has already been made for me and who am I to argue?_

 _I wish you could meet all of the Black Sheep. Well, there are a few of them I would prefer my baby sister did not meet but they are generally a great bunch of boys, just don't turn your back on any of them, ha-ha, I learned that lesson early. Oh the stories I wish I could tell you in person!_

 _Like Father used to say, if wishes were horses -_

A knock sounded on Kate's tent frame and she put down her pen. Greg walked in, carrying a folded newspaper. She broke into a smile, both at the sight of him and at an excuse to put the letter aside. Honesty, it shouldn't be that hard to write a letter but her self-censorship was getting the better of her.

Her first reason for smiling was much more straight forward. Since the night on the beach, she'd found it impossible to quit smiling any time he was around. And a lot of the time when he wasn't. She couldn't help it – a look, a casual touch in passing all sent her heart singing. Dee was right. She probably was glowing. Damn it. She couldn't remember ever feeling like this about a man before.

The forced intimacy of living with the squadron – sharing meals, showers, briefings, missions and recreation – meant what had happened the night of the bonfire was common knowledge now. Or at least the general premise was. The boys continued trying to tease details out of her. She'd gotten very good at suggestions regarding what they could do with their insolence.

"Thought you'd want to see this." Greg tossed a copy of Stars and Stripes on her desk and bent to kiss her. Kisses were pretty much their limit these days so she tipped her head up and made the most of it. His scent and taste left her a little breathless. She would sell her soul for an evening where one of the Sheep or some upper level brass on Espritos wasn't coming up with some new crisis du jour. But until then, a kiss and a nightcap would have to do.

Greg picked up the fifth of Scotch sitting on her desk. She'd finally found a pair of glasses. He poured for both of them while Kate looked at the paper. The front page photo showed a slender girl in Army fatigues kneeling between two Alsatian shepherds.

Kate's smile got even bigger. "It's my baby sister!"

She scanned the cutline under the photo, reading aloud. "Army Corporal Sarah Cameron, stationed at Cat Island, Mississippi, poses with Blast and Jack, two of the dogs she has trained in the Army's Dogs For Defense program. The dogs will be among dozens deployed in the battle against the Japanese. They will be used for sentry or scouting duty on front area bases in the South Pacific."

She stopped. Sarah's dogs were coming to help protect the men fighting in the South Pacific. She was so proud of her. When Kate had left for Europe, she'd wondered if her little sister would find a true calling in her life. It looked like she had.

"She looks like you, Cameron." Greg handed her a glass.

"You think?" Kate said, sipping as she studied the black and white newsprint photo. "She has red hair."

"Who has red hair?" Jim ducked into the tent, followed by Bob Anderson.

"My sister. Come in, make yourself at home. Help yourself to my Scotch," she added as Jim eyed the bottle.

"Hey Katie, hey Pappy. We came to see if we have any of that Australian wine left or maybe some toilet paper we can spare. Guys on Rendova have more silk stockings than they need and if we can trade – whoa!"

Jim's gaze fell on the photo. He read caption and whistled.

"That your kid sister, darlin'? Damn, she's a looker. I didn't know she enlisted."

Anderson pulled the paper out of Kate's hands and studied the photo.

"Oh yeah, she's your sister, no mistake there. How old is she?" he asked

"Twenty. Stop drooling."

"Married? Engaged? Have a steady guy back home?" Jim was too interested for his own good, Kate thought.

"No, no and no. Get over it, she's stationed in the states."

"She bringing the dogs out here?" Jim asked, scanning the rest of the story.

"She's a trainer," Kate said. "I don't know much about the program but I'm sure they don't have trainers take the dogs to the front lines." As much as she would love to see Sarah again, the last thing she needed was her little sister on the same island with the Black Sheep.


	24. Chapter 24

" _A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves – a special kind of double." Toni Morrison_

 **Chapter 24**

Greg paced Colonel Lard's office impatiently. It was just like Lard to summon him to Espritos for a meeting and then be late for the meeting. He'd already helped himself to the colonel's Scotch. It wasn't as good as what they had on La Cava but under the circumstances it would do. Jim had flown over with him as wingman and in the outer office, Greg could hear him flirting with Lard's newest secretary.

Lard blustered in, shutting the door behind him.

"Good afternoon, Colonel, nice of you to join me." Greg sketched a salute with his whisky glass.

Lard did a double take and scowled. "Help yourself, Boyington. I was in a meeting with General Moore. Sorry we inconvenienced you."

"This war inconveniences me. What's so important I had to fly over here to hear it?"

Lard glared at him. "Your scrambler's broken and I can't talk about this on an open frequency. I'm pulling the 214th off routine patrols in the Slot. Starting next week the Black Sheep are going be flying daily bomber escort for the 182nd over New Ireland."

"New Ireland? Isn't that a little out of our range, sir? We'll be floating back on fumes," Greg said.

"I assume you've heard of auxiliary tanks, Boyington. Get your mechanics on it. You're going to need them for the foreseeable future."

"Why the 214th? Why not VMF 819? Bougainville is closer to New Ireland than we are."

"ComSoPac is stepping up pressure on New Ireland and these bomber missions are critical. They want the best cover they can get. As much as it pains me to say it, that's the Black Sheep. I can't tell you any more than that so don't ask."

"What's on New Ireland that's so important?"

"What did I just say? I can't tell you. You don't have security clearance on this one, Boyington. Just get the auxiliary fuel tanks ready to go. And get your scrambler on La Cava fixed so I can call you without being on an open channel. That way you won't need to come over here and drink my Scotch."

Greg didn't point out that the odds of the scrambler being repaired were slim to none. He and all the rest of the Black Sheep liked it better when Lard couldn't call them.

"Anything else you need while I'm here, sir?"

"Yes. How are you getting along with K.C. Cameron?"

Greg had already half-turned toward the door. He slowly turned back to Lard and shrugged indifferently.

"Cameron is always in the middle of everything and never stops asking questions. And likes my Scotch a little too much. But I suppose we get along well enough."

He thought about Kate's body, warm and supple under his, her smoke gray eyes smoldering at his touch. Her scent, like the air after a thunderstorm. That undefinable element of her that he couldn't get enough of. Yeah, they were getting along just fine.

"He doesn't seem to be at a loss for story ideas," Lard said. "That series about your pilots has been . . ." He groped for words. ". . . remarkable. I wonder what he'll come up with next."

"Yes sir, so do I," Greg replied.

A coy giggle sounded from the outer office.

Lard waved a hand. "You're dismissed. Get your wingman out of here before he destroys my secretary."

 **XXX**

After Boyington left, Lard regarded the closed door. The man was incorrigible. Embedding a journalist with the 214th had seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time he arranged it. Now, he thought with a sigh, it hadn't done a damn bit of good when it came to getting the Black Sheep to tow the line. Boyington and his merry pirate band were as irreputable as ever.

Cameron played them up like national heroes and totally ignored all their rule-breaking and regulation-defying behavior. About the only thing he had accomplished was giving the squadron a lot of press that played well in the States. The only thing keeping Lard from yanking the correspondent out of there was the fact that, by association, Cameron was making him look good as well.

Lard lifted the current issue of Stars and Stripes off the stack of papers on his desk. The lead article on the front page was about dogs being used for sentry and scouting duty in the South Pacific. A photo showed a very pretty, very serious looking young woman kneeling with her arms around two very large, very serious looking dogs.

"Hmpf," he snorted. They were letting women train dogs for combat now. What would they come up with next?

The girl in the photo looked oddly familiar but he couldn't say why. He scanned the story.

"Corporal Sarah Cameron, one of the K9 handlers at the Cat Island training grounds, is the sister of noted AP war correspondent and photographer K.C. Cameron, who is currently covering the war in the South Pacific. When asked about her choice to enlist, Corporal Cameron stated, 'K.C. and I both feel fortunate we've been given the opportunity to serve our country in very different ways while doing things we both love.' "

"Hmpf," Lard snorted again. The only thing K.C. Cameron seemed to be doing was giving him a headache, although judging by the look on Boyington's face just now, he was giving him one, too. Well, then. Maybe stationing Cameron on La Cava hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

 **XXX**

Kate had gotten into the habit of going out to meet the transports with the other Black Sheep out of simple curiosity. From mail to canned peaches to replacement personnel there was no telling who or what might arrive on any given day.

On that particular afternoon she'd been taking random photos when Hutch got a radio message from Greg on his way back from Espritos, to start mounting the auxiliary fuel tanks. From her seat in a jeep, she watched as the Corsairs landed amidst sprays of muddy water, slewing and bouncing to an eventual safe stop on the flight line.

Just watching planes land these days had become its own form of white knuckle entertainment since the airstrip was deteriorating at an alarming rate. The Japanese had hit it with a bombing run about a week ago while the squadron was out on patrol and the craters they left were making take offs and landings nearly as dangerous as flying the missions. The Black Sheep viewed it as a challenge to their skills but the transport pilots were not nearly as amused. There was no telling what rules of physics a plane might break before it finally stopped.

"What's the deal with the auxiliary tanks?" Kate asked as Greg and Jim climbed into the jeep with her and Meatball.

"Don't know," Greg said. "We're flying long-range missions starting tomorrow and Lard wouldn't spill any more. Maybe I should send you over there and see if you can get it out of him."

"Not on your life," Kate muttered. "He already thinks Lieutenant Halvorson is too nosy for her own good. Here comes the transport."

The C-47 landed in one piece and the pilot staggered out, looking pale, to inspect his plane for damage. Corpsmen unloaded the usual assortment of mailbags and crated supplies. Kate wasn't paying much attention. In spite of the Black Sheep's skill, she was wondering how long it was going to be before one of them dropped their landing gear into a bomb crater, either coming or going, and sent their plane cart-wheeling ass over applecart. Greg had petitioned Lard for a Seabee company to fix things but so far it had come to nothing. Kate's mind was jumping between the imminent disaster of the Swiss cheese airstrip and how long it would take to process the day's film when a low whistle interrupted her thoughts.

"Will you look at that?" Jim said. The tone of his voice snapped Kate back to the moment. She looked up to see a girl wearing Army fatigues step out of the transport and pause on the top step. Her short auburn hair was curling out from under a cap and she was clutching the strap of a large duffel over her shoulder. Her other hand held the leash of the Alsatian shepherd standing quietly by her side.

She was tall and the unflattering cut of the fatigues did nothing to camouflage her slender curves. The girl scanned the waiting personnel, frowning slightly. Then she broke into a smile that lit up her face. Even at a distance, the effect was dazzling. There was a collective intake of breath by Jim and several other boys lounging against the jeep.

"Katie, bar the door!" Jim said. "Is that your - ?"

Kate gasped in recognition. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open as her mind spun, trying to process what she was seeing.

"Sarah? Sarah!" Kate vaulted out of the jeep. She sprinted across the muddy airstrip as the girl flew down the steps, the dog bounding by her side. Sarah dropped her gear in the nearest dry spot and threw both arms around Kate in a bear hug.

"What - ? How - ?" Kate managed, shoving Sarah back to arm's length. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Why? Would you have dressed for the occasion?" Sarah asked, scanning Kate's muddy boots, shorts and T-shirt in disbelief. "Is this what famous correspondents are wearing these days?"

"This isn't the fashion capitol of the war." Kate was laughing, giddy with the excitement of seeing her sister again. "Seriously, what are you doing here? I saw the article in Stars and Stripes, about dogs coming to the South Pacific but never thought. . . ." She trailed off.

"It's kind of a long story," Sarah said. "I wanted to let you know but there wasn't time. The last 72 hours have been a whirlwind."

"Who's this?" Kate's eyes dropped to the dog.

"This is Raider. He's why I'm here. Um . . .," Sarah's eyes focused beyond Kate's shoulder. "It looks like I get to meet your Black Sheep after all."

Kate turned. Half a dozen men were ambling across the muddy expanse of ground, curiosity evident on their faces. She recognized their air of studied nonchalance from watching them meet new nurses when they landed. She swore she could smell testosterone. Kate figured she had about five seconds before Sarah turned into the newest piece of fresh meat to land on La Cava in weeks. She kept it simple.

"Guys, this is my little sister, Sarah. I have absolutely no idea what she's doing here but if any of you get out of line with her, I will have to hurt you." There was a ripple of laughter, although several of the men shifted nervously and Kate was pretty sure they believed her. "Sarah, these are the Black Sheep."

Greg stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Major Greg Boyington. Welcome to VMF 214." He smiled.

Sarah's gray-green eyes went wide as she shook Greg's hand. Her gaze traveled quickly up and down his body. She looked back at Kate.

"Oh, Katie, I see what you mean," she said breathlessly, then clamped a hand over her mouth as the squadron erupted in laughter.

Greg turned his head slowly toward Kate.

"What exactly have you told her, _sweetheart_?" He tried to sound stern but there was no hiding the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Just the truth, _darling_ ," Kate said demurely, which elicited another round of laughter.

"Jim Gutterman, executive officer of this outfit," Jim said, stepping forward and extending his hand. "Your dog isn't gonna bite me, is he?"

Sarah looked at him.

"That depends on you," she said coolly.

"Why don't you come have a drink with me and we can get to know each other better?" Jim countered.

Kate stepped up and jabbed him in the chest.

"Do not start with me, Gutterman," she said.

Jim held up his hands.

"I'm not starting with you. I tried that once, got shot down. Maybe your little sister will be more appreciative of my finer qualities."

"Not if she has any sense," Kate hissed. Sarah watched the exchange with interest. So did Raider.

Meatball had been eying the shepherd and was slowly creeping closer. Raider curled one lip to display a gleaming canine tooth. Meatball stopped and sat down where he was. Raider dropped his lip, having made his point.

The rest of the boys approached cautiously and Kate introduced them one at a time. She overheard Greg telling Casey to find a spare cot and take it to her tent. TJ tossed Sarah's bag into the jeep.

"Come on," Kate gestured as she got behind the wheel. "You're bunking with me, no matter what other offers you get." Sarah climbed into the passenger seat and Raider leaped into the back. Kate put the vehicle into gear.

"Come to the Sheep Pen once you're settled," Jim called after them. "Two Camerons on this rock is call for a celebration."

 **XXX**

Sarah stepped into Kate's tent and looked around. It was in its normal state of disarray, a jumbled combination of crated black market goods and a newspaper field office with a laundry line strung across the back and Kate's cot stuffed like an afterthought into one corner.

"Home sweet home," Kate said. "Put your gear wherever you can find room. I think Casey's bringing a spare bunk. If not, you can take mine. I'll sleep on the floor."

"This is . . . rustic," Sarah said.

"It keeps the rain off my head. Usually. Don't tell me they don't have tents in the Army."

Sarah shook her head in negation.

"Barracks. It's all been barracks. Until now."

Kate sat on the edge of her bunk.

"Let's talk about _now_. What are you doing here?" She was delighted to see Sarah but was still struggling with the logistics that brought her thousands of miles from the States.

Sarah sat down on Kate's desk chair. She took off her cap. Her auburn hair was curling in the humidity.

"You cut your hair!" Kate blurted.

Sarah ran her fingers through her short bob, tucking it behind her ear.

"Yeah. Before basic. It's easier this way."

"So what's going on? No one ends up on La Cava by accident."

"A new class of dogs was ready to ship out from Cat Island, mostly sentry dogs for front area bases but a couple of scout dogs, too, like Raider." The dog looked up at his name and thumped his tail. "The new dogs usually go with a master sergeant who is responsible for transporting them if they're not shipping out directly with a handler. Some of the teams were being deployed for the first time so that was no problem - they went together. Four others were new dogs, going to personnel already on Bougainville and Rendova. Raider is one of them. Master Sergeant Burgin – that's our head trainer – was going to deliver them and train the new handlers.

"The night before they were due to leave, he had a heart attack. He'll be okay but no travel clearance for at least six weeks. They needed someone to ferry the dogs out here and they needed someone fast, so I volunteered. You know me, Katie, fools rush in . . ." Sarah paused.

Kate nodded. She and her sister had some infamous close calls as youngsters when impulse had trumped good sense. She supposed some things never changed. Fools rush in . . . wasn't that how she had ended up here, too?

"They really need these dogs out here and they couldn't send them with just anyone. It had to be someone familiar with the program. Everything went great at first. It was supposed to be two stops, then I'd head back to the States. Nix and Blast were sentry dogs who went to infantry units on Bougainville. Strike was another scout dog. I dropped him at Rendova.

"Raider was supposed to stay on Rendova, too, but his handler got shot when his patrol was ambushed two days before I got there – which probably wouldn't have happened if he'd had a good scout dog with him – and he'd been transferred to a hospital ship before being sent home. They didn't know what to do with Raider, since there wasn't a handler there for him. They sent me to the Navy base on Espritos to wait while they figure out what to do with him. And me." Sarah scratched the dog's ears. "This afternoon, I found out there was a transport coming here and . . . um . . . I talked my way onto it."

Kate looked at her in disbelief.

"You're AWOL?"

"No!" Sarah said, horrified. "I'm not AWOL. The Army knows where I am." She raised her eyes and recited, "I'm utilizing available resources to resolve an unforeseen situation with an outcome focused on achieving the overall goal of defeating the enemy."

Kate shook her head and laughed.

"I think you found your calling in the military."

"You ladies ordered a rollaway?" a voice called. It was TJ. He and Bob Anderson appeared in the doorway, carrying a bunk.

"Where are we supposed to put this? There's no room in here, Kate, with your desk and the whisky and –" TJ waved at the bras and panties strung on the laundry line, "- and all that," he said. "You know, Sarah, there's more room in my tent if you'd rather – "

"She wouldn't," Kate said firmly. "You can put it right there. Next to those crates." She looked at her sister. "I hope you don't mind cuddling up next to a couple of cases of Scotch."

"She could cuddle up to – " TJ started.

"Out!" Kate pointed at the door. "We'll see you in a little bit."

"Are they always like that?" Sarah asked when the boys left.

"No," Kate answered. "Sometimes they're worse. Usually, they're a lot worse."

Sarah picked up some loose photos laying on Kate's desk. Anderson had borrowed her camera while she was out of commission with her sprained wrist and she'd printed some of his negatives just that morning.

"Nice," Sarah said, shifting through the stack. She held up a shot of Kate with the Black Sheep, standing in front of a plane, arms around each other's shoulders. Another of Kate and Meatball in a jeep. Casey in the radio shack. Greg, Jim and TJ playing poker, crowned with wreaths of cigar smoke.

"Ooooooh," Sarah said, raising her eyebrows at the next photo. "This one is great. The two of you are so . . . intense."

Kate knew without looking which one she meant. She hadn't known Anderson was anywhere nearby when he took it. Damned long distance lenses. It was the day after the beach party, the day after their first - and to date, only – night together. She was helping Greg on the flight line. Anderson had caught them with their faces inches apart, eyes locked on each other, raw emotion speaking volumes. Just the sight of it made a flush of heat run through her.

"Welcome to my world," she said, grinning. "Come on, let's go have a drink."

 **XXX**

Kate paused on the steps to the Sheep Pen and turned to Sarah.

"Do not, under any circumstances, leave here with any of these boys tonight," she warned. "No matter what they promise and especially if they offer to show you the beach by moonlight."

"I'm guessing you've seen the beach by moonlight," Sarah teased.

"Yes." Kate didn't try to hide her smile. "But it damned well wasn't on my first night here."

She held the door open and the two of them were greeted with cheerful shouts of "Hey, Katie!" and "Sarah, welcome!" Kate had a moment of déjà vu, flashing back to her first night on La Cava. Greg was leaning on the bar, Jim next to him. Both men lifted glasses in acknowledgement as the girls made their way toward them. Raider trotted quietly at Sarah's side, head up confidently, tail swishing. The men gave him a respectful berth.

Kate relaxed a little. She knew Sarah was a grown woman and a member of the U.S. Army to boot, but she was still her little sister and she felt an odd sense of responsibility for her. It was a relief to see the 60 pounds of teeth and muscle that clung to her like a second shadow. She wasn't sure what level of training the dog had but his looks would be a good deterrent for most shenanigans. Kate felt completely at home among the Black Sheep, but where Sarah was involved, they were still the Black Sheep.

"So what does this here dog of yours do?" Jim asked.

"He's a scout," Sarah said. "He's trained to accompany patrols and indicate unfriendlies without giving away his handler's position. He won't sound an alarm or attack like a sentry dog."

"Good to know," Jim said.

"Unless he's told to," she added.

"Duly noted." Jim looked at Raider dubiously.

The gathering did not have the proportions of Kate's welcome party but the alcohol was plentiful, a few nurses showed up and the boys wasted no time asking Sarah to dance. Raider lay under the table, watching quietly as one after another led her onto the floor.

Sarah was catching her breath when Jim set drinks on the table in front of both girls. Looking at Kate, he said, "Good faith offering? I promise to behave around your little sister." Kate acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow, lifted the glass and sipped. The whisky burned a smoky trail down her throat.

"Why do I suspect that is a limited time offer?" she said, resigned.

Turning to Sarah, Jim held out his hand. "Come dance with me, Little Red."

"Kate warned me about you," Sarah said.

"Your sister and I go way back. She's a little prejudiced."

"Lucky for you, I'm not." With a bold grin at Kate, Sarah took his hand. Kate rolled her eyes.

 **XXX**

"They look good together," Greg said as Sarah and Jim melted into the crush of couples swaying to the music. He couldn't help teasing Kate. He'd known from the start that Jim would hit on Sarah and he figured Kate would have warned her sister about the Black Sheep's behavior in general.

Kate took a bigger sip of whisky than she intended and coughed.

"Sarah can make her own choices," she choked. "She can handle herself."

"If she's anything like you, my money's on her. Dance with me?"

Kate came willingly into his arms, feather light as they stepped onto the floor. He thought about the first night he'd danced with her, so sure then that she was nothing more than an attractive, temporary nuisance. Tonight, he could barely remember what his life had been like before she walked off that transport and right into the middle of it. She was even more attractive now than she'd been then and the temporary nuisance status had grown into something . . . well . . . something he admittedly couldn't wrap his mind around.

"What are you thinking about? You're smiling," Kate said.

"The first night I met you."

She tipped her head back, laughing softly as they moved across the dance floor.

"Lord, I wondered what I'd gotten into. Especially after Meatball knocked me on my butt."

"I knew you were going to be trouble from the start."

"You did? How much trouble could I be?" She laid a hand briefly against his cheek.

"You have no idea." His index finger traced her ear and down her neck to the hollow of her throat. She'd changed into clean sleeveless work shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and he let his finger trace lower. He felt her breath catch. He would probably pay for this the next time they were alone together - God knew when that would be - but it was worth it to watch the spark ignite in those gray eyes. He slid his hand to her waist, then the small of her back, pressing her closer. Her body responded to his, but he could see she was fighting it.

"Stop it," she whispered. They were on the edge of the crowd of dancers, not in the thick of it but not alone, either.

"Stop what?" He slid his hand lower, squeezed her hip.

" _That_. Stop. That."

He took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, then her palm, let his lips brush her fingers. She quivered in response, her body vibrating on a low frequency. The look she gave him was molten.

"I suppose you want me to stop that, too."

"Damnit, Boyington." There was heat in her voice but no anger. The color was high in her cheeks.

"I can't get enough of you, Kate." His voice was for her ears only. The music wrapped around them, isolating them from the other couples on the floor.

"I seem to remember you having a lot of me on the beach."

"That went both ways."

"Don't tease me," she whispered. "You're starting something you can't finish. I am not leaving Sarah alone tonight."

This fierce protectiveness regarding her sister was a side of her he'd never seen before. It matched the intensity with which she did everything else – working, playing, loving. He wondered what other facets of her life he hadn't seen yet.

"As I remember, you were alone your first night here."

"And look what happened." She was fighting to suppress a smile.

He lowered his lips to her ear.

"There will be a next time, sweetheart. Until then. . ." He took her mouth in a slow, deep kiss and felt her response echo through his body, her unhesitating willingness heightening his own need. Reluctantly, he broke off the embrace. God help him, he had to walk away from this tonight, too.

He enjoyed watching her face as she struggled to master her composure, arousal and annoyance battling in her eyes. Oh yeah, he had no doubt she'd make him pay for this. It would be worth it.

Jim paused next to them, Sarah in his arms.

"Hey darlin', Little Red here could sleep in my tent if you and Greg – " he began.

"Shut up, Gutterman," Kate managed.

 **XXX**

It was near midnight when Greg called an end to the party, citing the morning's mission. He and Jim escorted both girls back to Kate's tent. Jim bid Sarah a plutonic good night and Kate gave Greg a chaste peck on the cheek. He took her by the shoulders and kissed her hard, then winked and said, "See you ladies in the morning. Sweet dreams, Cameron. "

Sarah made sure Raider had a bowl of fresh water, then collapsed onto her bunk. She was snoring within seconds.

"Lightweight," Kate muttered, shaking her head. "You never could hold your alcohol."

She untied and pulled off her sister's boots under the shepherd's watchful eye. The dog scratched a blanket into a nest on the floor beside his handler, turned three times and lay down.

Kate turned out the light. She pulled on pajamas, crawled into her own bunk and lay staring at the canvas overhead. She could still feel Greg's lips on hers, the heat of his touch. Damn the man. She hoped he couldn't sleep either.


	25. Chapter 25

" _Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine." Humphrey Bogart_

 **Chapter 25**

Early morning sunlight was streaming into the tent when Kate woke to Sarah's groans.

"Welcome to your first Black Sheep-induced hangover," she said, yawning.

"Oh. God. My head." Sarah moaned. "Why did you let me drink that much?" Raider nudged her hand. She twisted her fingers in the dog's thick fur.

"I remember suggesting several times last night that you might want to step away from the bar."

"I tried. But they just kept buying me drinks. And they were so sweet, especially Jim. I couldn't refuse. Do they do that all the time?" Sarah rolled onto her back and put the pillow over her head.

"What? Drink like that? Yeah. Hit on the new girl? Yeah. Throw parties like that, no, only on special occasions. And if you stay here very long you'll get a lot better at saying no because you'll get a lot of practice at it."

Sarah lifted the pillow. "What was special about last night?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah. You're a new girl. And you're my sister. Bonus." Kate threw her legs over the edge of her bunk and stretched. She'd had her fair share to drink last night, too, but with no ill effects this morning. She realized, again, how different her life was from Sarah's. She'd gotten seriously good at drinking whisky when she was stationed in the UK. It was a skill she'd unintentionally honed since coming to La Cava and she could consistently drink several of the Black Sheep under the table. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. By contrast, this was the first time Sarah had ever traveled outside of the United States.

"Was that what your first night here was like?" Sarah asked. Her voice was muffled. She'd put the pillow back over her face.

"My first night here ended with a bar fight, Marine Corps versus the Navy, which – if you ask Greg - I started. If you ask me, he started it. And he didn't want me here at all."

"Well he certainly wants you here now. Katie, I would just melt in his arms if a man looked at me like that."

"It's taken us awhile to get to that point." Kate said drily. She gave her sister a sideways look. "I think you know it's gone way beyond dancing."

"Yeah, I figured that by the way he kissed you. And Jim kinda told me."

"Oh did he?" Kate wondered exactly how much information Jim had chosen to share with her sister.

Still flat on her back, Sarah turned her head and fixed Kate with innocent gray-green eyes.

"Greg kissed you like you were the only girl in the world and you were kissing him back like you couldn't get enough. I wasn't watching on purpose, but Jim said he figures the two of you are perfect for each other because you're the two most bullheaded people he's ever met. _And_ he figures if you don't kill him when you're sleeping together because he's so much older than you, the two of you might just have something."

"Thirteen years! He's only thirteen years older than me!" Kate said, exasperated, but there was no heat in her tone. "Those boys are all your age – 20 or 21. They think 35 means you've got one foot in the grave."

"From the smile on your face, I'm guessing he doesn't."

"You're guessing right. I think I liked you better when you were in the States and couldn't meddle in my business," Kate said. "And _sweet_ is not the first word I would use to describe Jim Gutterman."

"Why not?"

"We don't have that much time right now."

Raider stood up and started poking Sarah's arm. She reluctantly hauled herself upright. "Did I fall asleep in my clothes?"

Kate laughed.

"Yeah, family trait. I pulled off your boots after – "

Raider spun around and froze facing the tent door, ears up. Sarah recognized the dog's indication and immediately followed his gaze.

Jim knocked on the tent frame and ducked inside.

"Good mornin', whoa – "

Raider was standing by Sarah, body rigid and teeth barred in a silent snarl. Sarah looked at Kate, who had started to unbutton her shirt.

"I didn't know this suite came with a wake up service," Sarah said. "How nice."

"It's very unreliable. Gutterman, what are you doing?" Kate pulled her shirt back together. Sarah said something quietly to Raider and the dog relaxed.

"I see your dog hasn't had breakfast yet," Jim said, backing up a little. "I don't plan to be on his menu. Just stopped to check on you, Little Red. How you feelin' this morning?"

"I wish you'd have thought about that last night, when you kept feeding me drinks," Sarah said.

"I didn't realize you don't have your sister's unnatural capacity for alcohol," Jim said, slanting a look at Kate.

"I'm her sister, not her twin," Sarah said.

"Thank God for that," Jim said.

Kate narrowed her eyes and pointed at the door.

"Out."

"See you ladies later." Jim sketched a mock salute and left.

"See? He stopped to check on me. He's sweet." Sarah rose and pulled a clean shirt out of her duffel. "But do the guys just walk into your tent like that all the time?"

"Privacy is overrated with the Black Sheep. We don't really stand on formality out here. You get used to it after a while. And you never do anything here you don't want interrupted. _And_ you learn to change clothes really fast." Kate said. "C'mon, you look like some coffee would do you good. We need to be on the flight line at 0700." Kate pulled off her pajamas and quickly changed into a T-shirt and trousers.

"Is that going to be loud? That sounds like it's going to be loud." Sarah sat back down on her bunk and clutched her head.

"Oh yeah," Kate grinned. "It's gonna be loud."

 **XXX**

Breakfast was the typical Black Sheep affair of bad food, half-hungover pilots and off-color humor.

"This makes Army food look gourmet," Sarah observed, poking at the well-done powdered eggs.

"But the company is spectacular." Jim shoved his way between her and Kate and slung an arm around each of their shoulders. "Good mornin', Little Red, darlin'."

"Get your hands off me, Gutterman," Kate said amiably.

"He hears that all the time," TJ said to Sarah from across the table. "Your sister kind of made it her personal motto for a while."

"Don't know what you're missin'," Jim said to Kate.

"Where's Greg?" Kate asked. "I want to file a harassment complaint."

"The two of you need to spend another night on the beach," Jim said. "You're kind of growly when you're not getting – "

"Don't make me hurt you," Kate warned, brandishing her coffee mug, but she couldn't help a grin.

"Cameron, are you threatening my pilots again?" Greg sat down on her other side.

"Which one of us?" Sarah asked brightly.

"There ought to be a law against two of you on the same island," Jim said. "I can see this is going to be trouble."

 **XXX**

Out of deference to Raider, Kate decided they would watch the squadron take off from a point near the end of the airstrip. Sarah assured her the dog was bomb proof, almost literally, when it came to loud noises but agreed there was no sense in subjecting him to the collective roar of the Corsairs' engines on the flight line.

Kate got in the driver's seat of the jeep, Sarah got in the passenger seat and Raider got in the back. Determined not to be left behind this time, Meatball leaped up and landed on Sarah's lap. Raider stuck his head between the seats and curled his lip.

"Oh get over yourself," Sarah admonished him. "This funny looking dog is no threat to anybody."

Raider looked skeptical but he put his lip down. Meatball wagged his tail hopefully. The Alsatian ignored him.

"Where did you get this dog, anyway?" Sarah asked, shifting the bull terrier on her lap as Kate put the jeep in gear.

"Greg brought him back from China. Allegedly, he's General Moore's dog but it's one of those things that when you start asking questions, someone always changes the subject." She reached over and rubbed Meatball's head. "I spent the night with him once. Meatball, not General Moore."

Sarah laughed. "I don't think you've been telling me everything in your letters."

"I think you're right."

Several mugs of coffee had restored Sarah to functionality and she watched the planes lifting off with interest.

"Seriously, do not let me drink that much again," she said.

"Nobody held you down and poured it down your throat," Kate pointed out sensibly, standing up on the seat to frame a shot as one of the birds – French's – accelerated down the airstrip, mud spraying as he maneuvered strategically to avoid the craters.

"I'm not like you, Kate," Sarah said quietly. "You make yourself at home wherever you go. You're living in a tent in the middle of a Marine fighter base and you act like it's the most natural thing in the world. I've been gone from the States for four days and I'm already homesick. Was it like that for you, at first?"

"Getting homesick, you mean?" Kate thought about it. When she'd left the United States for Europe, she'd been thrown into such a fast paced new world there hadn't been time for homesickness. When she'd come to the South Pacific from the UK, the Black Sheep had welcomed her with open arms – literally - and she'd been absorbed into the rhythm of life at the 214th almost instantly.

And then there was Greg. From the moment he picked her up out of the mud that first night, he'd been a force in her life. A force that had effectively eliminated any thoughts of the traditional life she'd left behind.

"No, I never got homesick," Kate said. "I don't think I had time. I'd never actually lived on a base until this assignment. It's given me a whole new perspective on fighter pilots." She grinned at her sister. "In a lot of different ways."

Sarah watched as another plane roared past to lift into the air. Anderson. He flashed a thumbs up as he powered by. Raider flattened his ears at the roar of the engine but his tail was wagging. Sarah was right. The dog was bomb proof. Meatball edged closer to the back of the Jeep.

"Look – I've been here almost three months. God help me, I'm part of this group of nutballs now. You've been off your home base for four days – you've been island hopping the whole time and you don't know what's going to happen next. Don't beat yourself up about feeling like a lost lamb. The Army will probably cut you new orders in a day or so and then you'll go back home, right?" She reached out and squeezed Sarah's arm. "I'm glad you got to come here, even if it isn't for long."

Sarah watched Casey's plane go barreling past. "I joined the Army because of the K9 program. I just wanted to train dogs. The only reason I volunteered to come out here was this dog." She looked over her shoulder. Raider was studying Meatball like he might be a particularly tasty snack. "He was the biggest pain in the ass to train but he's probably the best dog I've ever worked. I couldn't send him off with someone else."

Greg's plane was the last to take off. The multiple kill flags blurred as he blasted past them and lifted into the air. He dipped a wing in acknowledgement, then leveled off and climbed rapidly.

"Do you worry about them not coming back?" Sarah asked quietly.

"Every single time," Kate replied. She lowered her camera but never took her eyes off the plane, watching as it grew smaller and smaller, then vanished into the cloud deck.

"This mission's going to take a while," Kate said, dropping down into the driver's seat. She handed her camera to Sarah and started the jeep. "Let's go enjoy another cup of coffee without all the testosterone poisoning this time. We've got a lot of catching up to do." She looked over her shoulder. Meatball was slowly oozing his way into back of the jeep, one paw at a time. Raider was acting like he didn't see him.

 **XXX**

When the squadron returned, Kate and Sarah joined them in the Sheep Pen for the debrief. It had been a successful mission only in the fact that all the boys came back.

"We fought our way in and then we fought our way out," Greg said as Bobby Anderson doled out drinks. "Those bombers never even got close to their target before we all packed it in and hightailed it home."

The level of disgust was high. The Black Sheep took it personally when they got routed, even though it was a rare occurrence.

Anderson handed Kate a beer. Sarah looked at her watch and raised her eyebrows. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it when Kate fixed her with a look. She declined the beer Anderson offered her.

"I don't think coming home with that many holes in our butts is what Lard had in mind for this mission," Casey said.

"I think he's out of his mind," TJ grumbled. "We ran into the whole damn Japanese air force up there."

"Look, Greg, I know Lard's got it in for us but killing us outright is a little extreme, even for him," Jim protested.

"Get over it, you guys, we're gonna go back up there and do it again tomorrow," Greg said. "Lard said this assignment was for the 'foreseeable future,' whatever the hell that means."

"Here's to going crazy." Jim lifted his bottle. "It's gonna be a real short trip."

 **XXX**

It was near sunset when Meatball trotted into Kate's tent, followed by Greg. She had gotten so immersed in her current story – an exploration of what it took to maintain the base's infrastructure - that she had sat down at her typewriter after evening mess and lost track of time. Warm hands squeezed her shoulders.

"Hey, Cameron."

She dropped her fingers from the typewriter keyboard and leaned into the back rub.

"Be careful, there are two of us around here who answer to that now," she said. She leaned her head against the solid heat of him, inhaling the faint scents of soap, tobacco and the ever-present ghost of airplane exhaust. She sighed at the pleasure of his hands.

"I think I can tell the two of you apart." His thumbs worked down her spine, fingers wrapping around to caress her ribs. "Where _is_ your sister?"

"She said something about taking Raider out for some training after supper." Kate glanced at her watch. "Ooops. I guess that was a couple of hours ago."

In the not-so-distance, a loud cheer rose through the evening air, followed by raucous clapping and hooting. Someone shouted "All right! Way to go, Sarah!"

"What was that?" Kate turned her head toward the noise. "Sounds like it came from the Sheep Pen."

They looked at each other.

"Let's go," Greg said.

Light spilled from the windows into the tropical twilight but the Sheep Pen was unusually quiet as the two of them edged through the door into the room.

A crowd was silently leaning against the bar or perching around a table where Sarah and Jim faced each other. Both held cards. Jim had one arm hooked around the back of his chair. He looked relaxed, almost bored. Sarah looked like a carved statue. Raider was sleeping under the table.

"What the hell are they doing?" Kate asked TJ.

"Playing poker," TJ said in a low voice.

"Yeah, I got that."

"Five card draw, best two out of three."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

What was her sister thinking? Jim was one of the unit's best poker players and Kate had no doubt he would take Sarah apart. She had watched the men play often enough to recognize when the stakes were higher than usual. There was something about the intensity in the room that surpassed a casual game.

At the table, Jim tossed out two cards and drew two new ones. His face retained a mask of casual indifference. Sarah discarded one, drew one. Her expression was carefully blank, eyes dark. Kate wondered if she was even breathing. The tension between them was tangible.

There wasn't any money on the table. Kate narrowed her eyes.

"What are they playing for?"

TJ shrugged.

"I'm not really sure. It's between the two of them. But Jim has been after her all evening to go to the beach with him, and she kept telling him no and the next thing I know, _this_ happens. Jim won the first hand, Sarah won the second. We think he let her win, just stringing her along."

Jim tossed out one card and drew a new one. His sipped his beer. He looked at Sarah with a lazy smile and chuckled, "Hope you cleared your social calendar for this evening, Red, cuz now you and I have plans." He laid down four of a kind. "The beach is lovely this time of day."

Sarah's face remained impassive. She closed her eyes and swallowed. The slightest hint of color rose in her cheeks. Then breaking into a dazzling smile, she laid down a straight.

"Change of plans," she said. "I believe my evening is now free."

Jim stared in disbelief.

"Sorry, darlin'," she said smoothly, sweeping up the cards. "Want to go best two out of three again?"

"Oh hell no! My ego couldn't take it. How did you do that? Your sister can't play poker worth a crap. Are you sure you're related?"

"Like I said, we're sisters, not twins."

Around the room, Kate noticed cash being redistributed among the men. She was pretty sure they were not only betting on who would win the game but if Sarah would actually go with Jim if he won.

Sarah was just getting up when Kate reached her chair. Kate took her sister's arm. Sarah was trembling, a series of fine tremors running under her skin.

"Sit down before you fall down." Kate pushed her back into the chair. "What were you thinking? And where did you learn to play poker like that?"

"I was in the championship finals at the plant in Long Beach," Sarah said. Her voice was weak. "I figured I had a pretty good chance."

"A pretty good _chance_?" Kate fixed Sarah with a blazing stare. Her sister, the poker queen. How had that happened? "And what if he'd won, Sarah? I know what the stakes were. Would you have gone with him?"

"Yes." Sarah's voice was soft but steady.

Kate bit her lip and grinned wryly. She wasn't in any position to lecture her little sister about inappropriate behavior for young women. However, she thought she still had the upper hand since the night she spent on the beach with Greg hadn't been the result of losing a card game. But damn it, her little sister had no business getting involved with a Marine fighter pilot. Oh hell. Kate wasn't exactly in a position to be giving advice on that either and Sarah knew it.

She gave her sister a fast, hard hug.

"I love you but you make me crazy," she said.

The best defense was a good offense. She turned from Sarah and stormed across the room. Jim was leaning against the bar, deep in conversation with Greg. Unapologetically, Kate shoved herself between the two men, about half a foot from Jim's face. She noticed with satisfaction that he took a step back.

"I know Sarah is a grown woman who can make her own decisions so I'm staying out whatever the two of you have going on," she said, "but if you hurt her in any way, I'll make what I did to Alan McNeil look like a Sunday school picnic." Jim regarded her with raised eyebrows.

"Cameron, don't abuse my pilots, they've already had a rough day," Greg said. He circled an arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet, pulling her away from Jim.

"I won't need to if he behaves himself. Put me down."

Greg put her down but didn't turn her loose.

Jim shook his head and downed his beer.

"You Cameron girls are full of surprises. Little Red is a damn fine poker player." He winked at Kate. "And I think she likes me."

"She can't like you, she's only known you for a couple of days." Kate was still blustering. "Boyington, let _go_ of me."

Greg didn't let go of her. Kate railed on his arm, realizing for the hundredth time that the man was solid muscle and he would let her go when he damn well pleased and not a minute sooner. She didn't really mind but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"If I turn you lose, are you going to beat the crap out of my exec?" He deliberately lowered his mouth to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. The hot rush that rolled through her threatened to derail her train of thought entirely.

Kate glared at Jim. He was grinning at her. She wondered why she'd gotten the gene that made her wear her emotions on her sleeve while Sarah was apparently a poster child for poker champion of the Southwest Pacific.

"Not if he promises not to take advantage of my sister. I mean it Jim, Sarah's never been out of the States until now, she's barely been out of North Dakota. She doesn't . . . she isn't . . ." Kate stopped. She didn't really know what to say. It had been two years since she and Sarah had left North Dakota after their parents died. A lot could change in two years. She should probably just get over it.

Jim raised his hands. "How about I promise not to do anything she doesn't want me to do."

Kate rolled her eyes. Men.

"It'll have to do," she said. Greg let go of her. She hoisted herself up on her forearms and leaned over the bar to snag two bottles of beer out of a case underneath. She slid back down and Jim relieved her of both bottles.

"Thanks, darlin'." He tipped his hat and went to find Sarah. Kate glared at his retreating back.

"Anyone who can beat Jim in poker can hold her own," Greg said, pouring whisky into a tumbler and handing it to her.

"I know it." Kate resisted the urge to slam the whole drink down at once. It was bad enough when the Black Sheep drove her to drink. Now her own sister was doing it.

 **XXX**

Kate was half asleep when the sound of low voices outside the tent brought her fully awake. She heard a soft laugh, the brush of fabric, a breathless "G'night." She looked at her watch. The luminous dial showed it was after midnight. Kate was caught between putting her pillow over her head or throwing it at the people outside.

Paws scuffled on the tent floorboards and Raider trotted in, followed by Sarah. Kate could hear footsteps walking away.

"Did I make curfew?" Sarah asked brightly, switching on the light.

"I am not asking where you've been or what you've been doing," Kate yawned. "It's none of my business."

"What's your problem with Jim?" Sarah sounded a little defensive.

"I don't have a problem with Jim," Kate said honestly. "I like him fine, Sarah, but he doesn't look beyond the here and now. He and all the rest of them live for the moment. They don't think about the future. The flirting that never ends, the drinking, the betting, the fighting – it's how they deal with the war. You saw how they came back from that mission this morning, barely in one piece. Their motto is enjoy today because tomorrow isn't guaranteed. It's not easy to get involved with someone who lives that way. I don't want you to get hurt."

"You and Greg seem to be managing fine."

Crap. Leave it to her sister to nail her to the spot. Kate knew she was nearly as bad as the Black Sheep. She didn't think about tomorrow, either. Life with the squadron was on a day to day basis. One mission at a time. One photo at a time. One kiss at a time. She and Greg never talked about anything further in the future than the next day's mission. Dee's words echoed in her mind. "Are you falling in love with him?"

"Go to sleep, Sarah. We've got to get up tomorrow and do this all over again." She rolled over on her bunk. Sarah turned out the light.

"It works both ways, Katie. I worry about you, too," she said quietly.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

The Black Sheep's second mission over New Ireland met with about the same results as the first one. The concentrated Japanese air support swarming out to meet the American planes had thrown up a wall of lead that knocked them back before they got close to their target. The squadron counted themselves fortunate to make it back to the base in one piece.

"What's down there they don't want us to see?" Greg jumped the last few feet to the ground and faced Jim. "We couldn't keep them off the bombers. Hell, we could barely keep them off of us."

Jim echoed his sentiment.

"I got so much lead in my butt I can barely stand up," he growled, pulling off his gloves. "We're gettin' spanked up there."

The Black Sheep had been so outnumbered that morning that all pilots involved in the mission realized discretion was the better part of valor. They'd covered the 182nd bomber wing's hasty retreat and headed for home. Hutch was already busy fashioning beer can patches for their birds.

Kate and Sarah fell in with the men as they headed for the de-brief, Meatball trotting alongside Raider. Both dogs' tails were wagging. They were the only happy ones in the group.

"According to our intel, there's nothing on that rock that hasn't been there for the last six months," Greg said. "There's no word on troop movement in the area and their lagoons aren't deep enough to shelter a destroyer or anything like that, anyway. They must be building something new."

He let the door to the Sheep Pen slam behind him as he followed the rest of squadron and the girls inside. They helped themselves to drinks.

"I talked to Major Christofferson at the 182nd," Greg continued as the boys slouched into chairs. "He knows _where_ they're supposed to hit but not _what_ they're supposed to hit. He won't give me the coordinates." He grimaced. "Apparently this is a need-to-know mission and he says I don't. Doesn't matter, nothing's going to change until we can hold them off long enough for our bombers to hit the target. If we knew what they're protecting, we could figure out how to get rid of it."

"Whatever happens needs to happen soon, I'm gettin' mighty tired of listening to Hutch tell me how much lead he's pulled out of my tail feathers every time I land," Jim grumbled as he nursed his drink.

"We gotta get that airstrip fixed, too, Pappy, or one of us is gonna buy the farm out there," Don said. "I've seen Swiss cheese that didn't have as many holes in it."

 **XXX**

Sarah was in the Sheep Pen, enjoying an afternoon beer and the Black Sheep's company. Beer at 1600 hours was much more appropriate than beer at 1100 hours, although she thought 1600 was still pushing it a little. She'd never met a unit that liked to drink as much as this one. She wouldn't say alcohol was their answer to everything but it certainly seemed to be high on their list of tried and true solutions. Jim, TJ and Anderson had tried to talk her into playing poker with them but she'd begged off. She'd given darts a try with Boyle and decided she should stick with poker.

She'd been on La Cava for three days now and expected to have new orders cut any time. She would deliver Raider to his new handler and head home. Part of her would be happy to put the South Pacific in her rearview mirror and go back to the dogs waiting for her in Mississippi. But that would mean saying goodbye to Kate. And leaving Raider with a stranger. And not seeing Jim again. Kate had been her sister for 20 years. She'd spent more than two months training Raider. She'd known Jim for a couple of days. She'd miss Kate and Raider a lot. She didn't know how much she'd miss Jim, although he was . . . intriguing.

They'd gone for a walk on the beach last night and he'd been a gentleman in spite of Kate's warnings about the nature of fighter pilots in general and him in particular. Well, she amended, they hadn't been walking the whole time and he hadn't been a complete gentleman but when she'd said no to anything beyond a couple of kisses, he'd walked her back to Kate's tent without arguing. She thought Kate might have had something to do with that. Her older sister seemed to command a fair amount of respect here and if she knew Kate, she'd no doubt put her size seven-and-a-half boot down and earned it.

At Sarah's feet, Meatball had finally enticed Raider into a canine wrestling match. While the shepherd had relaxed enough to play with the terrier, Sarah was keeping an eye on things to make sure the bigger dog didn't decide to eat him on a whim.

Raider was getting restless after several days of inactivity. Although Sarah knew the men would volunteer in a heartbeat if she asked for their help with a training exercise, she didn't feel right about asking them to put on a bite sleeve and let 70 pounds of muscle and teeth play target practice with their arms. They'd taken enough abuse in the air that morning.

She supposed she could ask for help with a less violent aspect of training. Surely one or more of them would be willing to go hide in the surrounding jungle so she and Raider could practice finding them. She should probably ask Jim. She was pretty sure he would agree to anything she suggested.

At a nearby table, Kate was studying maps and old recon photos of New Ireland. Greg and Jim were explaining the topography of the island and the route of their current missions. Jim was right about them, Sarah thought. Her sister and the major shared the body language of two people who very much enjoyed being in each other's space, no matter what they were doing. Was it possible that two people really could be _made_ for each other, she wondered. And if so, what were the odds of them actually crossing paths in the middle of a war? And realizing it?

Her sister's tumble of sun-streaked light brown curls were a contrast to Greg's dark head as they bent over the table. Sarah thought the two of them radiated a presence that was somehow greater than the sum of the parts. Greg Boyington was a very handsome man, she mused, although he wasn't her type. She didn't know if Jim was her type, either, although he was kind of fun in spite of Kate's warning. She wasn't sure what her type was. She didn't think she had dated enough to have a type yet.

Greg tapped an area on the map with a forefinger. Kate pointed at another area. He shook his head. She tapped her area with greater emphasis. Greg gave her such a disbelieving look, Kate broke out laughing but kept her finger emphatically on the map.

"What, you think we should detour through Tokyo first?" Greg said.

"You're not having such great luck doing it Lard's way," Kate said a little indignantly. "Maybe it's time to try something different."

"How's about you call him up and tell him that, darlin,'" Jim suggested.

Casey stuck his head in the door, waving a sheet of paper. He had a big grin on his face.

"This just came in from Espritos," he said, striding across the room. "Pappy, you can do the honors."

Greg glanced at the paper and chuckled.

"Hey, Cameron, no, not you, the other one, Red!"

Sarah stepped over the wrestling dogs to see what he wanted.

"Congratulations, Sergeant," he said.

She stared at him, confused.

"What?"

"Field promotion," Greg said. "Your master sergeant recommended it on the basis of demonstrated leadership, merit and basically because you volunteered to ferry the dogs out here and they really need someone with your skill level to stay on site."

Sarah looked stunned. Kate hugged her.

"That's great!" Then, seeing Sarah's less than enthusiastic response, "Isn't it?"

Sarah slowly reached out for the paper. Her eyes grew wide as she read the typewritten orders.

"I'm to go back to Bougainville and establish the new dog and handler teams there," she said, reading, "then Raider and I will be assigned to the 37th Infantry Division on Rendova. Permanently. I'm to leave on the transport this evening."

Kate took her sister by the shoulders.

"Sarah, this is wonderful. You don't have to give up Raider. You get to stay in this garden spot of this war. You get to stay close to me, well, sort of."

Jim left his poker game and threw an arm around Sarah's shoulder.

"Congratulations, Red. I never thought I'd want to kiss a sergeant."

"Don't get in a hurry to start now," Sarah said self-consciously, slapping him on the chest. But she didn't pull away from his arm, either. She took a deep breath. It looked like she was going to have to get over being homesick in a big hurry.

 **XXX**

Sarah left on the transport three hours later. Kate embraced her fiercely at the base of the steps.

"I'll see you . . . sometime," Sarah promised and gave her sister a peck on the cheek.

"I know you will. Go save the world with your dog." Kate nodded over her shoulder where Jim was loitering with some of the other Black Sheep. "Do you need to kiss anyone else good-bye?"

Sarah blushed, a soft rose that actually complemented her coloring.

"We said our good-byes earlier," she said. "In private."

Kate arched an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Really." Pause. "Don't be nosy, it's none of your business."

"Ha. That's never stopped anyone around here. Want me to keep an eye on him for you?"

"I think you've got your hands full already."

Kate hugged her again and she was gone.

 **XXX**

The next morning, while the Black Sheep took their third beating over New Ireland. Kate was in the radio shack, idly drafting a longhand version of a story about malaria and its effect on troops while waiting for their return. She missed Sarah. Her sister had been there less than three days but it had been nice to have a little more estrogen on the base and she had genuinely enjoyed having her close.

With Sarah stationed on Rendova, Kate hoped it would be possible for them to see each other a little more often but this was a war, not a family reunion, and there weren't any guarantees. At least if she wrote her a letter, it wouldn't take three weeks to get there. Probably.

As the squadron neared home, Kate picked up their tense chatter.

"How you doin', Pappy?" Jim's voice held little of his usual mocking tone as it crackled over the radio. "You're losing more altitude."

"I'm losing a lot of things," Greg answered. "The whole damn plane is falling apart. I think the engine's gonna seize pretty soon but if I can make La Cava I should be able to set it down in one piece."

Kate sat up in her chair and took her feet off the desk. Greg had been hit and it sounded bad. She shook her head. She should be used to it by now. In the last three months, all of the boys had come limping back to the base in planes with various degrees of destruction but never from missions that far afield. She didn't know when he'd taken the hit but clearly he thought he could make it back without ditching. The damage must have grown progressively worse on the trip home. That was a long way to fly in a damaged bird.

"After you, Pappy, I'm right behind you."

"Gutterman, you're smoking like a bad cigar." TJ sounded strained.

"Don't come any closer, TJ, I got enough problems of my own," Jim said. "This buggy's spraying oil six ways from Sunday."

Kate didn't wait to hear any more. She flew out of the radio shack and punched the jeep toward the airstrip, knuckles white on the wheel.

Behind her, the radio crackled again, although there was no one to hear it.

"Jim, you got more problems than that. You got flames now," TJ said.

"Jim, you set down first," Greg cut in. "I can keep this crate in the air for a few more minutes."

Kate got to the airstrip in time to see the first plane angling downward, smoke pouring from the engine. She could hear the cylinders firing out of sync as it fought to stay aloft. Thick clouds of oily black smoke were rolling over the canopy and she could see tongues of flame flickering under the engine cowling. Greg had to be flying blind, she thought, biting her lip. He was going to have to land by sheer memory. The plane touched down, bounced. Kate heard the engine cut out, leaving an eerie rushing silence as it hurtled down the strip. She knew once the power was chopped, the Corsairs became even harder to control. She watched as the plane slowed, veered, corrected. He was going to make it.

Then it happened. The starboard landing gear dropped into the edge of a bomb crater. Kate clapped a hand over her mouth in horror as the plane jerked violently, half obscured by a cloud of smoke and chaos. The morning's sunny peace was shattered by the screech of tearing metal as the aircraft cartwheeled off the airstrip.

"Oh bloody fucking hell." Kate slammed the jeep into gear again and gunned it forward even as the plane ground to a halt, one wing sheared off, the fuselage canted at an impossible angle, the cockpit almost at ground level. She leaped out of the jeep and bolted toward the plane.

She looked frantically through the haze of smoke and settling dust. The name stenciled under the cockpit was partially visible, " . . .ERMAN." It wasn't Greg. It was Jim. What the hell?

She could see him pounding on the canopy. It was off its track and jammed. Jumping forward, she wedged her fingers into the crack and pulled with everything she had. Nothing moved. It was damaged too badly. Fire crackled softly at the front of the plane.

Kate stepped back, adrenaline surging through her. She sized up the glass, which was partially shattered from a combined effort of the Zeroes' 20 mm rounds and the impact of the landing.

"Cover your face," she yelled. Jim turned away just as her booted foot made contact. The glass shuddered but didn't break. She kicked it again with strength born of desperation. This time the already weakened glass gave a little, spider-webbing along established fault lines. She kicked it a third time, her heel landing furiously, and the glass shattered. She booted it a few more times to clear the space, then dropped to her knees and crawled partway into the cockpit. She could feel shards of broken glass biting at her arms. Jim looked dazed but he was conscious. Blood trickled from cuts on his face and the upper half of his flight suit was a bloody mess.

"Can you move?" she asked. "You're on fire, you know."

"So I'm told," he said, yanking at the clasp of his safety harness. "Buckle's jammed."

Kate fumbled in her trousers for the pocket knife she carried. It was small but sharp. She flicked it open and began to hack at the webbing. It was slow going.

"Can you hurry up, darlin'? It's gettin' warm in here." His speech was slurring. Kate looked up briefly. She wondered how badly he was hurt.

The flames were greedily licking along the fuselage, igniting the oil as they went. She could feel the heat growing closer.

Jim groaned. His eyes were losing focus. Kate reached up and slapped him.

"Don't pass out on me, Gutterman, or I'll never get you out of here." She sawed frantically at the webbing. "Sarah likes you for some reason and I'd take it personally if you expired on my watch."

His eyes flickered open and refocused.

"You're a bossy little thing. What does Greg see in you?"

"I have my moments," Kate said through clenched teeth. She could smell the leaking fuel. It was trickling slowly in a dark line from the crumpled metal of the remaining wing. The fire inched ever closer.

"I thought these things had self-sealing fuel tanks," Kate said.

"Think I voided the warrantee with that landing."

Suddenly, a strong hand closed on her shoulder. She jumped.

"I can't leave you alone for a minute, Cameron," Greg said, sliding in next to her.

She looked at him, stunned.

"You set down okay? You're all right?"

"More or less."

Kate was weak with relief but there was no time for it.

"Can you lift him up to take the pressure off the webbing?"

"Hey, Greg, I suppose Lard's gonna take this out of my next pay check," Jim said.

"I hope we're around to collect our next pay check," Greg answered, pushing his shoulder under Jim's arm. He shoved him upward and Kate's knife sliced easily through the last of the harness. Jim half slid, half fell out of the cockpit. Kate could feel the flames biting closer to her trouser legs now. She got to her feet as Greg pulled Jim backward away from the plane. With Greg supporting his left side, Kate grabbed his right arm and heaved upward. Jim took one step and stumbled, dragging her down to her knees. Behind them, the plane was burning in earnest.

Greg hauled Jim back to his feet and the three of them ran in stumbling, limping, slow motion like something out of a bad dream. Behind them, the Corsair exploded, the blast slamming them to the ground. Jim hit first and Kate covered her head as she tumbled on top of him. Greg threw himself over them both. The fireball shot skyward with a deafening whoosh and flaming debris rained down around them.

Kate struggled for breath. She could hear Jim groaning underneath her. There was an elbow in her ribs and a stabbing pain in her right arm. She could hear the sound of approaching tires and a lot of yelling. Greg pulled her to her feet. An ambulance braked to a stop nearby, nurses and medics pouring out. Dee was there, and Laura, both of them directing the medics to lift Jim onto a stretcher.

"Thanks, darlin'," Jim said as they carried him to the ambulance. "Pappy, don't let this one go. She's cool under pressure and she's got a mean right hook."

"You hit him?" Greg asked.

"I may have slapped him. I thought he was going to pass out," Kate said.

The medic closed the ambulance doors and trotted around to the driver's seat.

"Any other customers?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No." Greg looked around. "Everyone else made it down in one piece."

"You two all right?"

"We'll do," Greg said.

The medic gave him a thumbs up, jumped behind the wheel and pulled away.

They stood there, the blackened hulk of the plane burning behind them. A fire crew was responding. Finally. Greg led her away from the wreckage, toward his plane. He'd damn near landed on top of the jeep, she noticed. She was shaking. He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head as she pressed her face against his chest.

"You took 20 years off my life when I saw you climbing into that plane." His voice was rough, his face inches from hers, dark hair falling across his forehead. "Promise me you'll never do anything like that again. Promise me you'll stay out of the way."

"The fire crew would never would have gotten there in time," she said. "I . . . I can't promise I'll ever stay out of the way."

"Why not? You could have been killed back there. A few more seconds and you'd have gone up in that fireball. What the hell did you think – "

"I thought it was you." Her words came out in a torrent. "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat so don't tell me to stop. I was listening in the radio shack. I knew you'd been hit and I thought you were coming in first. I couldn't see the markings on the plane before it went down."

"Do you make it a habit of rushing head first into things that could kill you?" His mouth was a hard line but the anger on his face didn't match the emotion in his voice.

"You seem to bring it out in me." She turned away. Her shirt was sticky with Jim's blood and she was covered with soot and mud. Her arms were stinging with a dozen tiny cuts. All she wanted was a shower and clean clothes. And a drink. The wind changed, sending smoke drifting around them. On the flight line, pilots were yelling back and forth. Greg swore. He grabbed her arm, spun her back to face him.

"Damnit, Kate, I love you."

The words hung on the air between them, creating a vortex that pulled time to a standstill. She met his eyes, tumbling into their hot blue depths, unable to breathe, not trusting herself to speak. She was aware of the heat of his body, the warm metal of the plane against her back.

"You do?" Her voice was shaky.

"Yes! I love you. Is that so hard to believe?"

It wasn't.

She'd known. She'd known since the night she told him about having dinner with Colonel Lard on Espritos. She'd known by the look in his eyes when he asked if Lard knew who she really was – knowing the truth would mean her leaving La Cava.

She'd known before that night on the beach. She'd known afterward, from the way he guarded her privacy from his men in spite of their incessant teasing. She knew it from his touch. His words. The way he wove her into his life, sharing the daily routine with her in a way that went beyond any physical connection. She closed her eyes – saw him laughing with her, staring at her in disbelief, that look when his thoughts couldn't be spoken out loud.

The impact of his words ricocheted through her. She had started falling in love with him the night he took her up in his plane. She'd been terrified, turned on and another element that defied being labeled at the time. She could label it now.

She had tried not to think about her feelings, tried to ignore them. Every time he got into that cockpit, there was the chance she'd never see him again.

There was blood on his temple. She reached up and wiped it away with her thumb. Falling in love in the middle of a war was dangerous business and from the look in his eyes, he knew it. She swallowed hard.

"I love you, too." Her words came softly, like the sudden discovery of something rare and beautiful in the last place she would have ever looked for it.

He took a step forward and pinned her against the wing.

"God, Cameron, you are difficult."

"It comes naturally," she whispered.

He kissed her and her body ignited as her lips opened under his, surrender and possession at the same time. They were both covered in sweat and oily soot and blood but she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. She wanted to feel the heat of his body, strong and alive against hers, an affirmation of today, devil take tomorrow.

He gripped her arms, pulling her up hard as his mouth dominated hers, leaving no room for doubts. She cried out involuntarily, jerking in pain.

"Whoa, sweetheart," Greg stepped back, scanning her upper body, the dark stains on both her T-shirt and his flight suit. "That's a lot of blood. Are you sure it was all Jim's?"

Kate looked down. Her mind was spinning from his kiss and from the intoxicating realization that he loved her. It left her dizzy and unable to think about anything beyond the burn of his mouth against hers.

"Yes. No. I – " she stared numbly as he gripped her right hand and straightened her arm, palm up. Blood was trickling from a gash that ran almost from elbow to wrist. She must have cut it crawling into the cockpit. In the adrenaline rush of the moment she hadn't even felt it. She felt it now. She studied the blood running against her skin, smearing with the soot. Her vision started to blur at the edges and she felt a wave of cold washing over her.

"Don't let go of me," she said. "I'm going to pass out."

Greg fixed her with a blue stare.

"What? You cut an injured man out of a burning plane seconds before it explodes over your head, then you pass out at the sight of a little blood?"

"If it's mine? Yes," Kate said and fainted in his arms.

 **XXX**

She came back to consciousness while he was carrying her into the hospital.

"Put me down," she protested, struggling feebly. Her mind was still spinning from the combination of pain and emotion.

"So you can fall and hit your head, too? You couldn't stand up right now if you tried."

"I'll be fine. Really. I just won't look at it." In complete contradiction, she looked at her arm. Greg had wrapped it with what appeared to be one of Hutch's grease rags. At least it had been a clean grease rag to start with. Now a dark stain was seeping through the rough cloth. Kate felt her head starting to spin again.

"Where do you want her?" Greg said to Dee, who appeared around a corner.

Dee's eyes widened as she gave her friend a once over.

"You look like you've been through hell," she said.

"Close. This is all Gutterman's fault," Kate muttered, starting to get her wits back.

Greg deposited her on a table.

"Not really," he said to Dee. "It's mostly her fault."

"Don't leave." Kate reached out with her left arm and gripped his hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, Cameron. If I let go of you, you'll fall off the table."

Kate resolutely averted her eyes while Dr. Reese cleaned her arm. She kept a firm grip on Greg's hand and anchored herself in his eyes as Reese tied off a neat row of stitches. He was smiling, she noticed - filthy, bloody, disheveled and smiling. Well, they were a matched set, she thought.

"I'd ask how a news correspondent ends up needing more stitches than the pilot who crashed the plane but it's probably best I don't know," Reese said, wrapping her arm with gauze. "Your blood pressure is back to normal. You can go if you can walk out of here on your own." He looked at Greg. "If I release her, can you be responsible for her?

Kate rolled her eyes. "I don't need - " she started but Greg cut her off.

"I'm not sure anyone is qualified to be responsible for her," he said. "But I'll take my chances."

Kate glared at him and changed the subject. "How's Jim?"

"Mild concussion, cuts, bruises and a few burns. I'm keeping him overnight for observation. Ya'll can have him back in the morning," Reese said. "I'd prescribe a pain killer for your arm but I imagine you can find a bottle of it back at your base."

"Finally," Kate blew out an exaggerated sigh, "someone who recognizes the medicinal benefits of whisky."

"C'mon, Cameron." Greg helped her slide off the table. "There's a bottle with your name on it in my tent."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

"Sit," Greg said, picking up the bottle of Scotch on his desk and pouring two glasses. Kate collapsed into a chair. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, holding her injured arm gingerly across her stomach. Doc Reese had said she was fine but Greg had seen pilots go into shock hours after coming back from a rough mission and he wasn't so sure. Jim's accident had upset her more than she wanted to admit and he knew Jim's injuries were only part of it.

"I thought it was you," she'd said. She'd thrown herself into a burning aircraft because she thought he was inside it.

She'd scared him half to death. He'd fought through a God-awful landing, trying to keep both his bird and the airstrip from killing him, only to see her diving into the flaming wreck of Jim's plane. That sure as hell wasn't how he'd intended to tell her he loved her, but afterward, knowing what he could have lost if he hadn't gotten there in time, the words had come unbidden.

He'd watched those gray eyes go dark, searching, before she said it back. She loved him. He had no idea why. What in the hell did a girl like her want with a guy like him? She wanted him, all right, there wasn't any doubt about that. He'd known her long enough to know she didn't do anything halfway.

He wasn't letting her out of his sight tonight.

Kate set down her glass. She'd put away the whole drink already, sliding it back with an ease that never failed to leave him amused and a little impressed.

"If you're planning to drink that whole bottle, you'd better clean up first," he said. "I'm not sleeping with you like that." He waved a hand at her general state of disarray. "And I'm not holding you up in the shower."

She arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching up. He could see her weighing the possibilities.

"I'm sleeping here?"

"Yes. I promised Doc Reese I'd be responsible for you."

"Do I look like I can't take care of myself?" Her tone was light but there was a fragile look about her, like she could shatter at any moment.

"Sweetheart, you look like a stiff breeze would knock you over."

She made a face and held out her glass for a refill.

 **XXX**

Later that evening, after they'd both had showers and lot more whisky, Greg wrapped his arms around her and let his mouth trail along her neck, drinking in the scent of soap and the underlying sweetness of her skin.

"Don't start with me, Boyington," she whispered, even though she leaned into the embrace, burying her face against his chest.

"Why not?"

"Because if you do, I won't be able to say no and we are _not_ making love in this tent tonight."

"Then we'll go somewhere else."

"My arm feels like it's on fire and I'm nearly three sheets to the wind, not exactly the stuff of romance." He could hear a warm current of laughter in her words.

"If you drink more, you won't feel your arm."

"If I drink more, I won't feel anything else, either." She swayed a little and poked him in the chest. "And I need to be sober where you're involved."

"Come sleep with me, Kate. Just sleep," he said. "I don't want you to be alone tonight."

Alcohol and exhaustion claimed her quickly once she stretched out next to him, her breathing a soft rhythm against his chest. He wondered what he'd ever done to deserve her in his life.

 **XXX**

Her dreams were fragmented with the sound of tearing metal and the smell of burning fuel. She woke, crying wordlessly into the darkness, grasping for something she couldn't reach. His hands closed over hers and pulled her close.

"You're all right, Katie," he whispered. "I've got your six."

His words cut through the nightmares and she relaxed against him, letting his solid warmth wrap around her, drawing her back into sleep.

The next morning, she had a thumping hangover and her arm still ached, but waking to Greg's blue eyes inches from hers took her mind off it.

"That's two you owe me," he said, rolling onto an elbow to study her. "Twice you've slept in my bed at your convenience."

"At _my_ convenience? I seem to remember you arranging it both times," she told him. She sat up and smoothed her rumpled T-shirt. "Feel free to collect on that debt any time." She laughed at his expression. "Except now. I need coffee. A lot of coffee."

 **XXX**

"We're not going back up there," Greg said, tossing a handful of maps and recon photos onto a table in the Sheep Pen.

"Uh, Greg, Colonel Lard said –," Casey began hesitantly.

"Colonel Lard can flap his arms and fly over there himself." Greg surveyed the assembled squadron members. Jim had just gotten back from the hospital. He looked a little battered but not too much worse for the wear. Kate was perched atop a table, cradling a mug of coffee and watching him with a private smile. The previous day's haunted look was gone from her eyes.

"I've got a plan," Greg said.

"Here we go," Jim muttered.

"Their defense is based on a direct, large scale assault – bombers with fighter cover - they wouldn't be expecting a smaller force coming through the back door. If we had those coordinates, we could send most of the squadron up as a decoy, come in under radar with a handful of planes, make a fast trip in and out before their spotters ever know we're there."

"I've heard this plan before," Jim protested. "It starts with you saying 'fast trip' and it ends with the Imperial air force chasing us all the way home. Besides, hasn't the 182nd been taking recon photos? What good is it going to do us to take more pictures of the same thing?"

"We're not going in there to take pictures. We're going to have Hutch mount 500 pounders and we're going to blow the hell out of whatever they're sitting on and be done with it."

"Greg," Jim chuckled. "I may have crashed and banged my head but even I know you can't get a Corsair off this strip with auxiliary tanks _and_ 500 pounders."

"Not everyone is going to need the auxiliary tanks." Greg tapped the map. "Four of us will fly on the deck, come in their back door – " he glanced at Kate, "- not through Tokyo but close - through the mountain passes where their radar can't pick us up. We'll hit the site while the rest of you are playing tag upstairs. The four of us won't carry spare fuel, just enough to hit and run, not engage. We'll be on vapor by the time we get back, so it's gonna be up to the rest of you meatheads to screen us. I'm not worried, I know we can outrun them."

"You're forgetting one thing," Jim pointed out, rubbing his head. "We don't have those coordinates. We can't hit what we can't find and we won't have enough fuel to fly around looking for it. And right now we can't even get up or down from this airstrip without damn near killing ourselves."

"Got it covered," Greg said. "The 5th Construction Battalion confirmed they are coming in day after tomorrow to start work on the strip. I'm grounding the squadron temporarily in light of it being a suicide mission just trying to take off.

"As for the coordinates, I'm sure Lard has them filed in triplicate somewhere in his office. Here." Greg handed Casey a slip of paper. "Post this on the mission board. Black Sheep are due for a little R and R. Twenty-four hours on Espritos, we leave day after tomorrow." He turned to Kate. "And Lieutenant Halvorson needs to come with us. Someone in this bunch is bound to need a medical officer before we're done."

She looked at him with raised eyebrows, clearly seeing through his thinly veiled excuse for her to travel with the squadron.

A general cheer of approval went up and the men dispersed. Kate refilled her coffee and headed into the dark room. Jim paused on his way out.

"Is an overnight on Espritos necessary? Don't you think we could just zip over there, distract Lard, do a quick recon in his office, find the coordinates and get out?"

"What's your rush?" Greg said, gathering up papers. "Never thought I'd hear you turning down R and R."

"Oh!" Jim chuckled. "I see. You don't plan on sleeping alone there, do you?"

"I have a debt to collect," Greg said, looking at the darkroom door.

"A debt? Is that what they're calling it now?" It was Jim's turn to grin.

 **XXX**

Two days later, the 5th Construction Battalion deplaned from the transport. Their equipment was being ferried to a beachhead on the east side of the island. They promised to work round the clock to have the strip in serviceable condition by the time the Black Sheep returned.

"Good lord, Major," their CO said, looking around. "I hope ya'll are religious cuz it's gonna take all the prayers ya got to make it back into the air. The pilot dang near had a coronary landing this here bird."

"You do the fixing, we'll do the praying," Casey assured him. The Black Sheep were showered, shaved and dressed in pressed uniforms, eager to be off. Kate was back in Laura's borrowed uniform and was aware of the men's admiring glances. Had it really been _that_ long since she'd worn anything but shorts and T-shirts? She waited in the queue of pilots giving their names and being checked off the passenger manifest. The corporal with the clipboard paused when she said, "Lieutenant Laura Halvorson."

"You're traveling with 214, ma'am?" he questioned.

"Yes, Corporal, some of these men require monitoring for medical conditions," she said briskly.

"Yes, ma'am." He put a check by her name.

Ahead of her, Jim groaned theatrically.

"Get moving," she hissed, "Or I'll give you medical condition."

Onboard, seated between Greg and Jim, she put a hand of each of their knees and closed her eyes as the C-47 spun and powered down the strip.

"Have I mentioned lately how much I hate flying?" she said through clenched teeth. "How do you do this every day?"

Jim winced at her grip.

"Is she this rough on you, Pappy?" he muttered.

Greg laughed and covered Kate's hand with his as the transport lumbered successfully into the air.

"You have no idea."

 **XXX**

Kate was enjoying watching the Black Sheep in action in the officers' club on Espritos. It was a step up from watching them in action in the Sheep Pen since now they were pursuing female personnel who were complete strangers although clearly wise to the ways of fighter pilots. The entertainment potential was endless. Don had already been slapped once and TJ had tried the same line on three different nurses, all to no avail.

She, Greg and Casey were seated at a table that gave them full view of the bar's front and side entrances, waiting for Lard to show up as was his evening habit, and enjoying an excellent bottle of Aussie wine.

Jim sat down next to Kate. Greg lifted the wine bottle in a silent question.

"Hit me," Jim said, scanning the room.

Greg poured. Kate noticed that whatever agreement Jim had with Sarah, it wasn't keeping him from pursuing any skirt he deemed desirable, although she thought his heart didn't seem to be in it.

"Heads up," Jim said. "Lard at 2 o'clock."

The colonel couldn't miss them. Their table was right next to the bar. He acknowledged the men with a grimace, then his eyes fell on Kate. A look of pained disbelief crossed his face as he took in Greg's arm stretched casually along the back of her chair. She smiled and lifted her wine glass in acknowledgement.

"So nice to see you again, Colonel," she said pleasantly.

"Likewise, Lieutenant." He looked from Kate to Greg and back to Kate, his disapproval clear, then sat down with several other members of the top brass. His back was determinedly to the Black Sheep's table.

Fifteen minutes later, Greg said, "All right, Lard knows we're all right here in this bar." He eyed the table where the colonel was engrossed in conversation. "Time to go. We're gonna need at least 20 minutes to search his office. Give us 30 and meet us outside. There's a jeep parked in back." He and Casey stood up. Greg tossed the keys to Jim. "If Lard tries to leave before then, come up with a diversion to keep him here."

"Like what?" Kate asked.

"I know the two of you'll come up with something." Greg winked at her and he and Casey slipped out the side exit, unnoticed.

"So," Kate turned to Jim. She re-filled his wine glass. "Tell me. What's the deal between you and my sister?"

 **XXX**

"Damnit, Lard's getting up to leave," Jim hissed. He checked his watch. "Greg and Casey won't be back for another 10 minutes. We can't let him walk out of here."

Kate looked at him, her mind racing.

"Lean over and put your arm around me, like you're going to whisper something in my ear," she said.

Jim eyed her suspiciously, then grinned.

"You seem to have forgotten what happened the last time I tried that." He slid an arm around her shoulders and leaned close. "I knew you'd come around."

"I'm really sorry," Kate said. "I'm not going to enjoy this nearly as much as you think." She slapped him hard. The sound of her hand connecting with his face carried through the bar.

"How dare you suggest something like that!" she said loudly as she shoved her chair back and stood up, the very picture of affronted feminine dignity.

Jim hastily swallowed a smile.

"Darlin, I can explain!" he protested, "I didn't mean – "

One of the Navy officers at the next table leaped to her defense.

"Did that Marine insult you?"

"Yes! He said I. . . he . . . oh, it was awful!"

The officer and one of his buddies launched after Jim. Kate strategically put a table between herself and the men. Jim dropped the first guy with a hard punch to the gut and ducked a return swing from the guy's buddy. Kate pretended to stumble, falling into another officer who was joining the fray. He toppled, landed against Lard's back and they both crashed to the floor in a tangle of khaki and white. Lard never saw who hit him. French and Anderson waded in and all hell broke loose.

Kate jammed the cork back into the wine bottle, grabbed it by the neck and bolted for the door. Jim dodged a punch from a pursuer and answered it with a right hook. The man staggered, barely missing Kate who stepped back at the last second and stumbled for real, unaccustomed to the high heeled pumps Laura had convinced her to wear. Jim grabbed her elbow and they fled out of the officers' club. They dashed down the steps and around the corner of the building.

"Hitting me is getting to be a habit with you," Jim said, rubbing his cheek. "I think you enjoy it."

"Maybe a little," Kate panted.

Greg and Casey materialized out of the shadows. They were both breathing hard.

"What kept you?" Greg asked.

"We, uh, ran into some old friends," she said.

Greg looked toward the front of the building. A white uniformed body flew out of the door accompanied by the sound of glass breaking. There was a great deal of yelling. Several MPs ran into the building. One came flying out almost as quickly as he'd gone in.

"Did you get the coordinates?" Jim stepped deeper into the shadows as sirens sounded.

"Yes," Casey confirmed. "Lard got better locks on his files. It took us 25 minutes to break in this time."

"We need to get out of here," Jim said. He rubbed his cheek. "Lard was just getting ready to leave when Katie hauled off and smacked me."

"Did he deserve it?" Greg asked her.

"Not really, but I figured I owed him one," Kate said.

All four of them ran for the jeep at the back of the building. Jim started the engine as the others piled in. Kate leaped into the passenger seat, the wine bottle still gripped tightly.

"You brought the wine?" Greg looked at her, incredulous.

"It's good wine! And it's paid for, of course I brought it," Kate said. "Drive!"

They careened across the base, endangering several pedestrians out for an evening stroll, ditched the jeep behind a stack of ammo crates and sprinted into the Quonset that housed the guest quarters. Greg unlocked the door to his room and the four of them tumbled inside. He slammed the door shut. Outside, they could hear faint sirens from the direction of the officers' club. Peering out the window, Casey said, "Um, we're gonna have company. There's a jeep pulling up in front. It's Lard."

"I hope you got a good alibi, Pappy," Jim peered out the window. "He looks furious." Lard was stomping up the outer steps, a couple of MPs trailing in his wake.

"I don't know why that man always comes looking for me when there's trouble." Greg looked at Kate, a slow smile breaking over his face. "Give me that wine, sweetheart."

"Greg, far be it from me to turn down a drink but do you think we really have time for that right now?" Casey fidgeted nervously. Jim was pressed sideways against the wall, looking out the window.

Greg pulled two long stemmed glasses off the sideboard and splashed the ruby liquid into them. He handed one to Kate.

"Drink. And get lipstick on the rim. I want it to look like we've been here a while."

Raising an eyebrow, she complied. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Greg killed the room's overhead light and switched on the desk lamp, plunging the space into a muted twilight. He pulled her to him.

"Sorry," he said. "You're gonna have to trust me on this." He reached behind her and jerked the zipper down on her skirt. It slid to the floor, taking the half-slip with it. While she was still gasping in shock, he partially unbuttoned her shirt and yanked the pins out of her hair so it tumbled loose over her shoulders. Kate saw where this was going and got into the spirit of it. She tugged his tie off and partially unbuttoned his shirt. Casey and Jim stared.

"What the hell are the two of you looking at?" Greg jerked a thumb at the adjoining bathroom. "Get in there and be quiet." Looking back at her, he raked her with a hot glance and grinned. "Damn, you look good in black lace."

Kate blushed. She was wearing the lingerie Laura had loaned her to wear under the cocktail dress at French's party all those weeks ago.

A knock sounded on the door as Jim and Casey dove into the bathroom. Greg pulled her to him and kissed her, rough and deep. The look she gave him when he pulled back was half aroused, half furious.

"Perfect," he said and pushed her onto the edge of the bed.

The knock sounded again.

"Boyington! Open this door! I know you're in there!" It was definitely Colonel Lard.

"Keep your pants on, Colonel."

Greg opened the door and Lard blustered into the room.

"Boyington!" Then he caught sight of Kate sitting on the bed, looking demure and a little flushed.

"Begging your pardon, Lieutenant." Lard cast his eyes around the room, taking in the lamplight, the wine glasses on the bedside table and Kate's state of dishabille.

"Boyington, someone broke into my office earlier this evening, about the same time your men started tearing up the officers' club. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Colonel, I've got better things to do tonight then break into your office." He tipped his head toward Kate, who bit her lip and did her best to look modest. She was trembling with barely suppressed laughter. "If you don't mind, sir . . ."

"How long have you been here, Lieutenant?" Lard addressed Kate.

"At least an hour, sir," she said quietly.

Lard turned back to Greg.

"What about your executive officers – Gutterman and Casey? Where are they?" he snarled.

Greg looked around.

"What? Do you think they're hiding under the bed? I'd guess they're doing the same thing I am."

"Hmpf. Yes. Well." Lard's face was an alarming shade of purple. He turned to Kate. "Lieutenant, are you here of your own free will?"

Kate tugged the gaping fabric of her blouse together.

"Yes, sir, I am."

"I see you didn't take my advice regarding the Black Sheep," Lard blustered. "Mark my words, you'll regret it."

"With all due respect, sir, it's a little late for that."

"Are you trying to be difficult, young lady?"

"No, sir," Kate said as politely as she could. "I've been told it comes naturally."

Lard stormed out and Greg slammed the door behind him, then fell against it, laughing.

"Really, Kate? 'I've been told it comes naturally?' You are too much," he said. In one stride, he lifted her off the bed and pushed her up against the wall, his mouth over hers. Her lips parted in invitation. Her hands were sliding down to his hips when the sound of throat-clearing came from the bathroom door.

"Um, Greg, we don't want to be in the way so if you could just let us out . . ." Jim edged into the room, followed by Casey. Kate didn't even bother to pull her blouse closed this time. The two men were looking anywhere but at her. They slipped out the door without a backward glance. Greg locked it behind them.

She refilled both wine glasses and held one out to him.

"To alibis," she said, a little breathlessly, lifting her glass. Greg clinked it against his.

"To alibis." He drank, never taking his eyes off hers. He set both their glasses back on the sideboard. When Kate reached to turn off the lamp, he stopped her hand.

"Leave it on."

She held his eyes in the soft light, thinking of all the times he'd set her on fire with just a look. She wondered if he knew. His mouth curved in a slow smile. Yeah. He knew. She wondered if she dared to think she had the same effect on him.

He stepped toward her and her pulse quickened as he unfastened the remaining buttons of her blouse and pulled it off her shoulders. Heat sparked through her as his hands slid down bare skin to her garters and stockings.

"Take them off." His mouth was against her neck, his voice a quiet order.

Kate kicked off her heels and sat on the edge of the bed. With deliberate care, she rolled the silk down her legs, feeling his eyes on her every second. She took her time, watching him from under her lashes. She stood and draped her stockings over the chair.

She turned to face him, wearing only black lace and shadows. He traced a finger between her breasts and down across her belly. She shivered, anticipating. She would do anything he wanted and he knew it.

He picked her up and lowered her onto the bed. Stretching atop her, he pinned her hands above her head, taking her mouth with deep, hard kisses that only made her want more.

If Kate had controlled the tempo of their lovemaking the first time, she didn't control it now. She didn't even try. The firelit sensuality of the beach was replaced by a rush of adrenaline-fueled arousal that had ignited when he'd half-undressed her in front of Jim and Casey.

There was none of the hesitation that had marked their first time together. Each touch, each kiss was somehow more intimate than the previous one, the blunt strength of his hands a counterpoint to the softness of her body. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him down against her. He released her hands and she worked loose the buttons on his shirt. He tugged off her bra, the rough heat of his palms against her breasts was agonizing pleasure. She tangled her hands in his hair as his mouth brushed over her nipples.

Kate lost herself in his body. He was hot under her mouth and the taste and feel of him were intoxicating. Raw hunger surged through her. He paused to pull off the rest of his clothes and the sense of shared need built as he stretched against her. His breath quickened at her touch as her hands traced the lean contours of his body.

"I want you," she said softly. "I want you now."

She lifted her hips as he pulled off the damp lace of her panties. His eyes played over her, his gaze as hot as his hands. His fingers slid lower and her surrender was complete. She was wet and trembling at his touch, her need for him excruciating.

He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, and nudged her legs apart with a knee. Breathless, Kate brushed against him, teasing, then closed her eyes, welcoming the moment of possession, feeling him driving up into her, claiming her.

She let her body adjust, reveling in sensation. His hips shifted and she matched his rhythm, her palms braced against the muscle of his chest. He cupped her breasts then slid his hands to her waist, pulling her down hard. She lost herself in the powerful, unforgiving demand of his body. Threads of hot sensation were starting to weave through her, flames sparked from glowing embers.

He gripped her upper arms and rolled her onto her back, slowed as she tangled her legs around him, then drove her hard. She didn't hold anything back, needing to give him as much as he gave her. Her nails dug into his back as almost violent sensation tore through her, consumed her. His name was on her lips as she arched up under him, crying out, the pleasure incinerating her with a thousand tongues of flame, all fueled by him.

Through the tremors echoing through her own body, she could feel power igniting in him, anchoring her to him like she was part of his body. She wrapped her legs tight around him as he pinned her to the bed with a final, hard drive, his heart pounding in time with hers.

There was no yesterday, no tomorrow, no war, only now. Only this moment in the semi-dark, the smell of the ocean on the breeze through the window and the soft thump of the ceiling fan. She trailed her fingers down to his hips, then back to his shoulders.

"I love you," she said.

"Is that why you tore up my back again?"

She could hear the smile in his voice as he rolled to one side.

"I didn't hear you complaining. Maybe that will teach you not to change your mind about where you want me."

"I doubt it. I know exactly where I want you." He kissed her, pushed sweaty hair off her face. "I love you, Kate."

Her heart skipped at the sound of her name on his lips.

"You know I'm nothing but trouble. You told me so yourself."

"I'll take my chances."

 **XXX**

She woke to his hand against the curve of her belly. Outside the window, the first pink hint of dawn tinged the eastern sky. Sleepily, she pressed herself against the solid heat of him, unsure of his intentions. His intentions became immediately apparent.

"Didn't you have enough of me last night?" she whispered as he rolled her onto her back.

"I can't get enough of you," he answered.

He shoved the blanket to the side, leaving her bare, and let his touch bring her fully awake. She matched his desire, heat building from the sheer sensuality of waking next to him with nothing between them but a look.

"Anything for you, Boyington," she said.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

"We'll have enough fuel if nothing goes wrong." The words hung on the humid morning air as the pilots gathered for the mission briefing.

"Yeah, Greg, and what are the odds of that?" Jim was lounging against the doorframe of the ops shack. "Every time we get near New Ireland, it turns into a big furball."

"Not this time. Jim – you, Casey, TJ and I are gonna go in on the deck and circle around to their back door. You three – " he pinned them with a steely look "- no heroics. We get in, bomb the hell out of whatever's down there and get out. We'll be gone before their spotters know we're there.

"Don, you're squadron leader. You'll take the rest of these meatheads upstairs to play. Soon as we make the hit, the four of us bolt for home. The rest of the squadron will break off and cover our retreat. You guys –" he gestured at the remaining pilots, "will have auxiliary fuel tanks so you can stay at the party a little longer. We won't."

Thirty minutes later, Kate watched the Black Sheep take off. Meatball was sitting in the jeep next to her. The Seabees had done a fine job of fixing the airstrip while they had all been on Espritos and the Corsairs lifted into the sky without hesitation. She hoped those coordinates were worth the trouble it had taken to get them.

 **XXX**

The secret the Japanese had been guarding so viciously on New Ireland was the mother of all fuel dumps next to a brand spanking new enormous airstrip. Tanker trucks and storage tanks were aligned in neat rows stretching the length of the airstrip, partially screened by trees and camo tarps. From the looks of it, Japan must have been planning to launch an offensive that would have cleaned the U.S. out of the Solomons for once and for all.

In retrospect, hitting it with multiple planes was overkill. Jim made the first sweep and a strategically released 500-pound payload ignited a chain reaction that might have measured on the Richter Scale. Billowing orange sheets of black-tinged flames soared skyward as tank after tank of aviation fuel exploded. Given the volume of fireworks that went off, Jim suspected there was more than just fuel stashed under the camo netting. TJ hit the dump again, for good measure, and Casey and Greg followed through, reducing what was left of the airstrip and base to smoking rubble. The island's airborne defenses were going to have a problem when it came to setting down. Not that there were going to be a lot of them left to worry about it.

Upstairs, the Black Sheep were playing a lethal game of tag that wasn't going well for the Zeroes. As soon as Don got the message from Greg that the objective had been achieved, he ordered the squadron to disengage and cover their retreat. Getting the Black Sheep to pull out of a fight they were winning in spite of the odds was easier said than done. Jim had joined the attack after his initial sweep of the island and dove into the thick of it, backed up by TJ. After Don yelled at the boys and Greg yelled at them again, they reluctantly disengaged and headed home.

Not surprisingly, due to his unplanned dogfight, Jim's fuel gauge hit E when he was still 30 miles out from La Cava. As much as he hated jumping out of a perfectly good plane, he hated being in a perfectly good plane when it crashed even more. He bailed and air-sea rescue had him back to the base almost before the rest of the squadron got there.

Greg and Casey fared slightly better. They were over the island when their birds went on vapor. They pulled deadstick landings and hit the airstrip in a silent rush of power that left Kate biting her lip.

TJ, oddly enough, got back with enough fuel to land on a wing and a prayer, but that was so typical for TJ everyone had quit trying to figure out how he did anything and didn't give it a second thought.

The rest of the Black Sheep followed them in safely. Euphoria ran so high at the plan's success that the pilots happily overlooked holes from random 20 mm rounds and the general smoking, leaking and misfiring from their birds that had Hutch and Micklin stomping around in a cloud of cigar smoke and swearwords.

Naturally, Lard came unglued about the unauthorized mission and threatened to court martial Greg – again - but since it had accomplished in one morning what a months' worth of strategic planning had failed to achieve, he couldn't grouse too much.

When Bobby Boyle cheerfully pointed out that Jim had wholesaled two planes in less than two weeks, surpassing even TJ's record, Greg had to step in and stop his executive officer from beating the living daylights out of the shorter pilot.

And with that, life returned to normal at 214. Of course, it didn't last.

 **XXX**

Seated at her typewriter a week later, Kate was deep into writing a story that explored the delicate balance between maintaining planes and pilots in equal numbers. Recently, the pilots of 214 had suffered a rash of accidents that left the unit with more birds than personnel to fly them. While a couple of replacements had already arrived on La Cava, the squadron was still short of being able to launch a complement of 15 planes and if Lard got word of that, the shit was going to hit the fan.

She was typing fiercely, barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt, her hair pulled up in a loose knot. When Greg slipped into her tent and kissed that curve of exposed neck, she took a deep breath and said, "Boyington, if you don't get out of here and let me finish this, I will throw you out on your ass."

He considered letting her try. He was relatively sure she couldn't, but the idea held a lot of interesting potential.

Instead, he just winked and said, "Later." Then he headed to the ops shack to find Casey. They needed to tackle the mountain of neglected paperwork there before it avalanched and killed someone.

 **XXX**

"Looks like they found us another replacement pilot," Casey said two hours later, after they'd chewed through the worst of the reports and requisitions. "Interesting guy - served with the 359th Fighter Group in England, got into a sticky spot with someone's wife, left there under shadowy circumstances, got shifted through some other units and now here he is." Casey held out a file folder.

"Sounds like a typical candidate for the Black Sheep," Greg said, reaching for the folder and flipping it open.

The name jumped off the page.

Lieutenant Andrew William Butler.

Greg swore under his breath.

" _What was his name?"_

" _Who?" She turned toward him, emotions crossing her face like shadows in firelight._

" _The guy who burned you. Sweetheart, you didn't just leave England, you left the whole northern hemisphere."_

" _Andy." Her voice held no bitterness, just a faint ghost of what had been. "Lieutenant Andrew William Butler . . . tall, dark and handsome. . . . Every girl's dream and I got to be that lucky girl."_

"Something wrong?" Casey looked up from a stack of requisition forms.

"When does this guy get here?" Greg asked sharply.

Casey shuffled through some papers.

"Today. He should be on the afternoon transport."

Greg looked at his watch. It was 1700 hours. The transport would be arriving any minute. Well, that answered the question of whether he'd have time to tell Kate. She'd dropped by 15 minutes ago to leave the courier's packet with her latest story for Casey to deliver to the transport and to say she was going to the hospital to see Dee. She would shower and stay for evening mess there. Butler would be on this rock before he'd get a chance to tell her he was coming. It seemed wrong to let the man blindside her by arriving on La Cava unannounced but Greg didn't see any way around it.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"Something wrong?" Casey asked again.

"Not yet. But there's gonna be."

 **XXX**

As usual at the 214, word spread quickly and by the time the transport landed, all the Black Sheep knew the new replacement pilot had a history with Kate. They didn't know the details but from the look on Greg's face they could guess.

"That him?" Jim leaned against the jeep at the edge of the airstrip, watching as a tall, dark haired man in dress khakis and aviator shades walked down the steps from the C-47.

"Yep." Greg stepped forward. "Might as well get this over with."

"You gonna tell him about . . . you know . . . her and you?" Jim said.

"Nope." Greg felt badly enough that Kate was going to walk right into it, unprepared, when she got back to the base. He didn't see any reason why he should give Butler the advantage of knowing how things stood between them. Hell, maybe the man didn't know she was here. Maybe it was one of those randomly crappy hands that life dealt every now and then. Or maybe it wasn't. No one ended up on La Cava by accident.

"Welcome to VMF 214," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Major Greg Boyington."

"Lieutenant Andrew Butler," the pilot returned, shaking his hand. Greg guessed he was in his early 20s. He had clean-cut features, a lean build and the smug self-assurance of a man who knows women find him attractive.

Butler scanned base, taking in the tents and mud. "Heard you boys were a couple of pilots short. Thought I'd sign on with this unit and give you a hand."

"Your file says you served in the United Kingdom, ever flown a Corsair before?" Greg asked.

"Once or twice. Like I said, Major, you got more planes than you got pilots. Sounds like beggars can't be choosers."

Greg decided to ignore this. The man certainly had a fighter pilot's dose of arrogance.

"We'll do a check flight in the morning. In the meantime, you'll bunk with Don." Greg gestured at French. "Show him his quarters then bring him down to the Sheep Pen for a drink so he can meet everyone."

"Sure, Pappy."

"Think he came here to find Kate?" Jim asked, as Andrew left with Don and a couple of other boys.

"I don't think he's here for the mud and malaria," Greg said, turning the jeep over. "His combat record is excellent, he could have his choice of any unit he wanted, even with that business about a brigadier general's wife. The Allies are kicking ass in Europe, why come clear out here if he's looking for combat action? Kate's stories are all over the papers. It's common knowledge K.C. Cameron is stationed with the Black Sheep. You bet your sweet aunt he came out here looking for her."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," Greg said. He wasn't crazy about having one of Kate's old flames dropped into his squadron but he wasn't worried about _her_. He sighed and put the jeep into gear. "Let's go have that drink. I'm gonna play this slow. Some people will hang themselves if you give them enough rope."

"I hope you know what you're doin'," Jim said as the jeep bounced along the muddy track. "I seen Kate when she's pissed off and it ain't pretty."

"She can handle it," Greg said through clenched teeth. He wasn't sure _he_ could handle it, though, and if Butler had come here deliberately looking for her, Jim was right. It wasn't going to be pretty.

 **XXX**

Freshly showered and having enjoyed a decent supper with Dee and Laura, Kate was in a sparkling mood when she stepped into the Sheep Pen that evening. After filing her story that afternoon, she was looking forward to relaxing with Greg. With the recent addition of several new replacement pilots, that usually meant a boisterous night of drinking as the new personnel were welcomed to the unit.

Greg, TJ, Jim and Casey were playing poker. Boyle and French were throwing darts. Brag was talking to someone she didn't know by the jukebox. It must be one of the replacements. His back was too her.

"What are you drinkin', Katie?" Bobby Anderson was behind the bar as she approached.

"A beer will be fine, thanks, Bobby." She paused, suddenly aware that every eye in the room was on her. What the hell? Had she forgotten to put her pants on? She did a quick mental inventory of her person. Nope. Fully clad.

Then she saw him. He had turned from the jukebox, where he'd been talking to Bragg.

The air around her seemed to solidify as the Sheep Pen went eerily silent. She could have heard a pin drop.

"Hello, K.C. You look wonderful." Andrew Butler stepped toward her, arms opening wide to embrace her.

Kate did not return the sentiment. She knocked his arms away, not backing up.

"What the bloody fucking hell are you doing here?"

Andrew laughed a little self-consciously. That clearly wasn't what he expected.

"What kind of a welcome is that? We haven't seen each other since Mildenhall. It's been, what, more than six months?"

Kate turned back to Bobby. "I changed my mind, make it Scotch." He poured wordlessly and handed her a glass. She tossed it back, slammed the glass on the bar and without looking at him said, "Hit me again."

"I see you still like your Scotch." Andrew's laugh fell flat. The Black Sheep shifted uncomfortably. Kate's lips were pressed into a hard line.

Silence.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated.

"I saw your stories. When I got the chance to move on, I requested this unit. I thought it would be great to see you . . ." His words trailed off at the sight of her face.

"You thought wrong." Her voice was steel. "I doubt your wife would approve."

He flinched.

"K.C., honey, please, I never got a chance to explain." Andrew shifted uncomfortably, aware of the growing contempt on the other men's faces. "It's not like that."

"You never got a chance to explain _what_?" Her words were like ice. "That you were married? That you had a wife and a baby back in the States while you were professing your undying love to get me into bed at every chance? If it hadn't been for one of your men finally telling me the truth, I'd have made an even bigger fool of myself."

"It's not like that!"

"Really? I'm sure your wife and little Andy Jr. might have thought differently. What exactly _is_ it like?"

"K.C., hon, what we had was – "

"What we had was a lie! Our whole relationship was nothing more than one big lie so you could get your rocks off. I have nothing to say to you." She spun on her heel to leave, then stopped. She turned back, eyes narrowed, radiating fury. "Except thank you. If you hadn't been such a cheating bastard, I never would have come here and it's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She stormed across the room, threw a leg over Greg's lap and kissed him hard. He returned the kiss, splaying his hands across her hips as she pushed his head back. It was a deliciously rough kiss and Kate made sure it lasted long enough to make her point. When they broke apart, she turned and blew out of the Sheep Pen.

Andrew Butler stared at her retreating form in stunned amazement. He looked at Greg. Greg folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah. It's like that," he said.

 **XXX**

"I can get rid of him if you want me to."

They were walking on the beach, throwing sticks for Meatball, as the sun melted into the Pacific.

"No." Kate shook her head. "I don't want him here any more than you do but you need every pilot you can get if you're going to keep 15 planes in the air. You pulled off this morning's mission with 12 but Lard could drop in here at any minute to do a spot check. You know what he's like. Butler will bring the active duty roster back to 15 pilots once you get all three temps checked out. Who knows how long it will take to find another pilot if you ship him off."

Greg wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Try not to kill him. That would generate a lot of extra paperwork."

She sighed.

"Even if I make it look like an accident?"

 **XXX**

"I'm not sending you up on a mission until you get a little more time in the Corsairs," Greg said, pulling off his gloves and headgear. He'd figured if Kate didn't kill Butler first, he might as well see what he was made of and had taken the new pilot up for a check flight. Although he'd proved to be capable, it was clear he wasn't used to the speed and power of the Corsairs yet. "They're nothing like the Spitfires you flew in Britain and until you get the feel for what you're doing up there, you'll just be target practice for the Zeroes."

He could tell his words didn't sit well. He'd read Butler's file. The man was an ace with a sterling combat record and clearly expected to join the upper echelons of the Black Sheep without having to prove himself first. That wasn't going to happen.

"I want you to go up with Casey this afternoon and practice flying wingman for him. You'll do the same tomorrow morning with Gutterman. After I hear their reports, then we'll talk about adding you to a mission."

Andrew said nothing. Greg started to walk away.

"Not surprised she ended up in your bed, since you're the top dog," Andrew said. "She never settles for the bottom of the pack. That's our Katherine."

Greg turned back. He knew the younger man was baiting him.

"She's not _ours_ ," he said slowly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "She doesn't belong to me and she sure as hell doesn't belong to you. Now let me tell you something, pal." Eyes blazing, he stepped into Andrew's space and the younger pilot took an involuntary step back. "Whatever happened between the two of you is yesterday's news. Don't bring it onto my island and don't bring it into my squadron. If you can't do your job, I'll be happy to sign your transfer out of here."

"Whatever you say, Major," Andrew sneered. "Just don't be surprised when she gets tired of you and goes sniffing after a younger dog."

Greg thought about the time he and Kate had spent last night on the beach after the sun went down. He rather doubted it.

 **XXX**

Kate made it explicitly clear she wanted nothing do with Andrew Butler. She rebuffed his continued overtures with icy politeness and drew a round of applause one evening in the Sheep Pen when she flat out told him to fuck off.

"Butler, she ain't interested in you," Jim said. "Why can't you get that through your thick skull and move on. All you're doing is stirring up trouble and we do that fine in this unit without any outside help."

Andrew's eyes followed Kate as she left the building.

"How'd she get assigned here, anyway?" he mused. "Bet the brass on Espritos would get real excited if they found out a girl was living on this base."

"Then you better hope they never find out."

"Uh-huh," Andrew said, "real excited." He smiled.

 **XXX**

"I don't like him." Jim swirled the Scotch in his glass before taking a sip. The two men were sitting in Greg's tent, listening to it rain. "I don't like him upstairs and I don't like him any better on the ground. He might have a hot hand in the air but I'm starting to think the guy is Section 8."

Greg nodded his agreement.

"He's obsessed with getting Kate back. He can't let go of it."

He thought he knew exactly what Butler was playing at. If he couldn't have Kate, he was going to find a way to make sure no one else could either.

 **XXX**

"Pappy!" Casey tore into the Sheep Pen, nearly falling over himself in his haste.

Greg was one card away from collecting a relatively high - by La Cava standards - poker pot.

"Yeah, Casey, what is it?"

"Butler!" Casey gasped. "Lard!"

"You're gonna have to do better than that."

"Lard's here," Casey panted. "Just landed. Butler called him."

Greg arched an eyebrow.

"Called him? Why?"

"Seems he trumped up some story about how Lard needed to get over here to 'see what was going on.' " Casey made a face. "No specifics, just stirring the pot. You know what he's like. Lard jumped at the chance. You know what he's like, too."

"Yeah," Greg muttered. "I know."

"Now Lard's on the flight line, talking to Micklin about how many planes we have operational."

"That's not a problem, Casey, relax. We can put 17 in the air right now." Never mind that a couple of them might be on fire by the time they got there but he was counting on Micklin to keep that to himself. "And we have 15 pilots, if everyone is sober. We're good."

"That's not all. Lard said when he's done there, he wants to finally meet K.C. Cameron and Butler said he'd be more than happy to do the introductions."

Greg swore under his breath. Of course. That had been the real goal in getting Lard here, wasn't it? To expose Kate for who she was, which would mean the end of her assignment at the 214.

He glanced at the closed darkroom door where she was processing the film she'd shot that day. His mind raced.

"Anyone in the darkroom helping her?"

"Anderson," Boyle said.

"Perfect." Greg looked at the boys around the poker table. "Who's got civilian clothes that would fit him?"

They looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

"I've got some trousers that would fit," TJ said slowly.

"Don't look at me," Boyle said, folding his hand. "I don't have giant-sized clothes."

"I probably got a shirt," Jim offered.

"Go get them." Greg looked out the window. A jeep was approaching. "There's a window in the back of the darkroom. Stuff them through there – "

"What the hell?" Jim chuckled. "We open that window and let light in while she's doing film and Kate will have our balls."

"If you don't – " Greg glared. His implication was clear. "Get the clothes in there for Anderson. Tell him he's the new and improved K.C. Cameron and tell Kate she's Laura for the time being. Lard doesn't know Anderson. Near as I can remember, he's never met him, and if Bobby can pull it off, Butler can just choke on it." He swallowed hard. "If not, Lard will have Kate out of here before the sun goes down."

He paced the floor. What had Kate been wearing the last time he saw her? It was after evening mess, she'd showered and was in decent shorts and a T-shirt. She'd pass as a nurse visiting the base after hours. There was no rule against that and Lard already knew that the two of them were . . . well, Lard knew he was involved with Laura Halvorson.

TJ and Jim were still looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Greg said. "Damnit. Lard's here already." He crossed to the opposite side of the Sheep Pen and unhooked the frame holding the screen in the window. Pulling it up on its hinges, he jerked a thumb. "Out." Jim and TJ bailed through the window and Greg hooked the screen back into the frame as Lard stepped into the Sheep Pen. Andrew Butler was right behind him, a complacent smile on his handsome face.

"Colonel, what a pleasant surprise," Greg said. "You should have called first. Really."

"Thought I'd drop in and finally meet K.C. Cameron. I've got a few things to say to him." Lard surveyed the Sheep Pen. "Where is he? You can't hide the man forever."

"Sit down, Colonel, and have a drink," Greg suggested. "Cameron's in the darkroom right now but he'll be out soon enough."

" _Never thought that you would be, standing here so close to me."_ Bobby's pleasant tenor drifted out of the darkroom.

" _There's so much I feel that I should say, but words can wait until some other day,"_ Kate sang the next line, then they joined on the chorus, tenor and alto rising to a cheerful, if pleasantly off-key, crescendo. _"Kiss me once, then kiss me twice and kiss me once again, it's been a long, long time."_

Lard looked toward the dark room. Someone had tacked another board under Kate's sign. Now it read "Please knock if you want to keep your ass in one piece."

"What brings you to our little corner of war, Colonel?"

Lard eyed him.

"Lieutenant Butler suggested I come over here for a visit and see how this unit is . . . functioning. I heard reports you'd been flying at less than combat status but according to your line chief, he's got 17 planes that can get off the strip without falling apart." He snorted. "I suspect he might be stretching the truth a little, from the looks of some of them. Now where's this Cameron? I've been trying to meet him for three months."

In the darkroom, Bobby and Kate launched into a duet of a newly popular tune titled "Again."

" _Again, this couldn't happen again, this is that once in a lifetime . . ."_

Greg swallowed. It had become their song and always reminded him of how he felt when she was in his arms, like the world was theirs and nothing could stop them as long as they had each other. He knew it was Kate's way of telling him she and Bobby were ready to launch the deception.

"Who's in there with him?" Lard looked confused.

"Oh, that's Laura," Greg said, quickly cutting across Andrew as he started to speak.

"Laura? That nurse from the hospital? What's she doing here?" Lard glared. Now Andrew looked confused. He opened his mouth but Greg cut him off again.

"Well, sir, she's really here to see me but she knows a little about photography and helps in the darkroom when Cameron needs an extra set of hands. Can I get you that drink, sir?"

" _. . . what's more, this never happened before . . ."_

Lard grumbled an affirmative.

"Boyington, I don't know what you're doing but it's clear you've corrupted that girl. I warned her to stay away from you if she knew what was good for her."

"With all due respect, sir, she's kind of independent and once she gets something in her head . . ." He shrugged.

" _. . . that such as you would suddenly be mine, mine to hold as I'm holding you now . . ."_

Behind the bar, Casey splashed Scotch into a glass and handed it over.

Andrew opened his mouth to protest but this time it was Lard who cut him off.

"Boyington, I don't know what you're playing at. I didn't come here for drinks and a concert,"he snarled. "Get Cameron out here so I can finally meet the man."

Greg knocked on the door.

"Hey, K.C., there's someone here to see you."

"Yo! Be out in a minute!" Bobby returned. He and Kate finished with a heartfelt, _"We'll have this moment forever but never, never again."_

Andrew sputtered.

"That's not – K.C. is - "

The darkroom door opened and Bobby stepped out. He called a hearty greeting that drowned out whatever Andrew was going to say. He was wearing a pair of slightly wrinkled civilian trousers and one of Jim's Hawaiian print shirts. Turning over his shoulder, he called, "Laura, honey, after you get that processor cleaned, come on out and I'll buy you a drink."

"Sure thing," she called back sweetly.

Extending a hand to Colonel Lard, Bobby beamed.

"K.C. Cameron, Associated Press, West Coast Bureau. So good to finally meet you, sir. Can't thank you enough for pulling the strings that brought me here. This is the most . . . unique . . . assignment I've ever taken." He had affected a cultured accent, somewhere between Fleet Street, London, and Beacon Hill, Boston.

Lard shook his hand, eyes traveling over his countenance.

"I must say," Bobby continued enthusiastically, "when my editor in Scotland found out I was going to accept this posting, he wasn't at all happy to lose me but I was ready to move on and report from a different part of the war. The boys here invited me to the 214th with open arms. Why, some days I just feel like I'm part of the squadron. They've all been so good about cooperating for interviews and story ideas. Major Boyington has been especially accommodating for the press, there's just about nothing he won't do to make sure I get what I need. Living right here on the base has given me a true first-hand look at the life and times of the Marine Corps fighter pilot in the South Pacific."

Lard was staring, open-mouthed now. Bobby continued his monologue, not giving Lard a chance to get a word in edgeways.

"- editors in the States are loving it, they can't get enough. Conditions are a little primitive here but I've adapted. In fact, that's where I find my inspiration." Bobby had a beatific smile on his face as he launched into a description of the next series of stories he planned to write. "I think you could help me, sir, let me grab a notebook and I've got some things I'd love to ask you about."

Kate slipped out of the darkroom and edged toward the door of the Sheep Pen. As she passed him, Greg snagged her elbow and pulled her back.

"You're not going anywhere, Laura, sweetheart," he said with a smile. She arched her eyebrows and sank into a chair next to him. Lard gave her a sweeping glance. She smiled brightly.

"So nice to see you again, Colonel."

"Likewise, Lieutenant," Lard answered, although he didn't sound like he really meant it.

Nearby, Andrew was coming to a full boil.

"Now just you wait – " he sputtered. "That's not – don't you believe a word – they're all - "

Then several things happened at once.

After coming in through the front door, TJ accidentally-on-purpose tripped over Meatball and fell across the table, splashing his drink down the front of Andrew's shirt and effectively cutting him off.

"Son of a bitch! Watch what you're doing!"

"So sorry," TJ muttered. "Here, let me . . ." He turned to grab a bar rag as Casey walked by with three mugs of beer on a tray.

"Ooops!" TJ sounded apologetic as he bumped a fist up under the tray and everything went flying. Two mugs crashed onto the table in a spray of foam and glass. The third landed upside down in Lard's lap.

"What the hell!" Lard stood up, blustering and wiping ineffectively at his beer-soaked uniform. "I've had enough of this crackpot outfit. If you didn't have the best combat record in the theater I'd have every single one of you up on charges." He stomped out of the Sheep Pen. At the door he turned and snarled, "I'm watching you, Boyington."

"You do that sir." Greg managed not to laugh. "Come back any time."

The door banged and he was gone. Greg could hear him yelling for his pilot to fire up the L5.

"That was the worst interview I've ever done in my entire 10-minute correspondent's career," Bobby laughed.

"Where did you learn to improv like that?" Kate asked, her voice a blend of admiration and relief.

"I studied theater in college," Bobby answered smugly. "Played Polonius in Hamlet my sophomore year." He struck a pose. _"Though this be madness, yet there is method in it."_

Kate laughed out loud but her relief was short-lived. Andrew was staring at Greg, fury etched in every line of his face.

"You wait," he snarled. "You just wait. I'll make sure you don't get by with this. Both of you!"

He turned to leave.

"Hey!"

Greg grabbed Andrew's shoulder and spun him around, anger blazing in his eyes.

"I've had about all I can take of you. What the hell were you thinking with that stunt? Kate's one of the Black Sheep. If you'd stop thinking with your dick, you'd realize she's part of what's keeping those birds in the air and your ass in one piece. If Lard found out she's a woman, he'd have her out of here in no time and there goes the precious little leverage we've got on him not to cut our parts and supplies."

"Yeah, Major, and there goes your sweet little lay, isn't that the real reason you want her here?"

Greg swore and not under his breath.

"Look buddy, I don't know what your problem is but it's time you got over it."

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe it's time – "

Andrew threw a roundhouse that Greg saw coming from a mile away. He ducked and returned it with a hard jab to the gut that doubled the other man in half.

"If this is how you want to settle it, Butler, it's my pleasure."

The Black Sheep scrambled out of the way, sending chairs tipping over in their haste. Andrew charged forward, straight into a right that spun him sideways. He got his feet back under him and went on the defensive as Greg pounded him with a series of quick jabs, driving him back across the room.

The younger man had the advantage of height and length of arm but Greg more than evened the odds with skill and speed. He controlled the tempo of the fight, letting his opponent wear himself out until Andrew landed a swing that sent Greg flying across a table. Jim had to forcibly restrain Kate who launched herself at Andrew's back. TJ grabbed her other arm and they wrestled her out of the way.

"He's got this, Kate. I seen him fight guys a whole lot better than this yahoo and come out on top," Jim said. As if proving his point, Greg came up off the table and unleashed a hook that rocked Andrew onto the bar. Glasses flew and splintered. TJ reached out and snagged a bottle of Scotch before it toppled off.

Jim was right. Kate had watched Greg settle dust-ups between the men and do some housekeeping when off-base personnel got out of line with the nurses, but this wasn't the free-for-all brawling so typical of the Black Sheep. Andrew's punches, although powerful, were fueled by blind emotion while Greg's blows were carefully timed for maximum impact. For every punch Andrew landed, it was returned two-fold in terms of accuracy and power.

The intense violence was starting to tell on both men. Andrew was staggering, blood pouring from his nose and one eye starting to swell shut. While Greg clearly had the advantage of stamina, he was breathing hard, sweat trickling to blend with blood from a cut on his cheekbone and a split lip.

Greg threw another hard right that crashed Andrew over a chair and onto a table. It splintered under his weight and he sent him sprawling on the floor. Andrew clawed his way back to his feet only to be on the receiving end of an uppercut that ricocheted him off the jukebox. With a roar of frustrated anger, he lowered his head and charged. He hit Greg in the chest and the momentum carried both men across the room to smash through the screen door. It tore completely off its hinges as they crashed down the steps and onto the dirt outside. The occupants of the Sheep Pen followed them out. Jim kept a firm grip on Kate's arm.

Andrew was laying on his back. Greg was standing over him, hands on his knees, breathing heavily as blood and sweat dripped in equal proportions.

"Get up, Butler. I'm not done with you."

The other man groaned, rose part way and fell back into the dirt.

"No more," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "You're crazy. The whole outfit. Crazy. I want a transfer. No woman is worth this."

"That's where you're wrong," Greg said, and walked away.

 **XXX**

"There you go again, defending my honor."

Kate dipped a cloth in a bowl of water and disinfectant and wiped it across Greg's cheek. Casey had delivered first aid supplies to his tent, told Kate "He's all yours" and left.

"You bring it out in me. Ouch! That stings. What did you do, pour Scotch in there? I'd rather have mine straight out of the bottle." He peeled what was left of his shirt over his head and leaned back in the chair. Kate turned his face toward the light.

"No. Sit still. Honestly, Boyington, you're going to feel worse before you feel better." She dabbed at the abrasions on his face, noticing bruises already starting to bloom across his torso. Andrew Butler would be feeling ten times worse though, she thought, and she was damn sure none of the Black Sheep were tending his injuries. "I don't need to haul you to the hospital to have Doc Reese make sure you didn't crack your hard head, do I?"

"No. I'll be fine."

She bent and kissed his brow. He flinched.

"Ouch."

She rolled her eyes.

"That didn't hurt."

"It hurt."

"Are you trying to be difficult?"

"No, sweetheart, it comes naturally. You should be used to it by now."

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. She felt him wince as she laid her head against his chest.

"Damn man. Stop being so stoic."

They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of his heartbeat steady in her ear, his hands warm on her waist.

"Nothing with you is ever going to be easy, is it?" she whispered.

"Admit it - that's what you love about me. You wouldn't know what to do if it was easy. "

"I'd like to try, just once."

"Kiss me."

"I did. You said it hurt."

"It doesn't hurt everywhere." His eyes were hot blue and his mouth turned up in a slow smile.

Kate answered that smile, feeling it ignite her, both body and soul as she brushed her lips over his.

 _Here we go again_ , she thought and her mind soared with the joy of him.

 **THE END**

Dear Readers: When I started this unlikely love story six months ago, I had no idea where it was going. Like so many things, it took on a life of its own. Thank you for the privilege of letting me share it with you. MW


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